squidy's writing ⯌
id: 733252
category: Things I'm Making and Creating
posts: 17
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ january 5 ⯌ write a 500+ word sci-fi story continuing off your cheese story from the day before. if you didn't write a cheese story, just write a sci-fi story 
note: I did not write a cheese story but I will still write a sci-fi cheese story
⯌
I opened the fridge and immediately reacted, slamming the door closed and throwing myself back. Something in there smelled real bad. I creeped closer, leaning back and stretching my arm out as far as it would go. I yanked it open with one hand, the other hand clasped across my face, pinching my nose shut. The smell burned my eyes. Who knew it'd be this difficult just to get a snack!
Quickly, my eyes scanned the shelves, searching for what I wanted. Ah, there it was, the box of chocolate cake sitting on the top shelf. There was something wrapped in tinfoil on top of it. I couldn't tell what was inside—chicken, maybe? It was wrapped poorly, like the person putting it away didn't care much about it. In the midst of the mystery, I realized I needed air and shut the fridge, gasping for non-stinky air. What was causing that stink?
And what was in the tinfoil?
I decided none of it mattered, and took as big of a breath as i could before pinching my nose again and opening the door. As carefully yet efficiently as i could, I removed the tinfoil to get to my cake and was hit with a wave of stink. It penetrated even my nose-pinching, and i dropped it in surprise—and disgust. When it hit the ground, the tinfoil unwrapped about halfway and I saw what was so stinky.
It was cheese.
Icky, gross, stinky, terrible, cheese.
Did I mention I absolutely despise cheese? It tastes absolutely terrible. The stink only makes it worse.
My nerdy older brother Ben rushed in at the sound of it hitting the floor and looked at me, his face a world of sadness and how-could-you eyes.
“Sorry,” I shrugged. After a moment of silence, I added, “Hey, at least it's still in the tinfoil. If it had fallen out you couldn't eat it. You'd never eat of the floor… right?”
He stared at me. The sadness had transformed into fury. "HOW COULD YOU?“ he yelled, trembling with anger. ”Now I have to start all over again!" he stomped away, and I snorted. He was such a weirdo.
I wrinkled my nose and tried to hold my breath while bending down so I could re-wrap the cheese in its tinfoil and set it on the counter. But when my hand brushed against the cold, moist, slightly smooth block, the cheese moved. And I don't just mean it jiggled a little when I poked it, I mean my finger barely touched it and the cheese was alive.
It turned and looked at me. Well, it didn't necessarily have eyes, but it still looked at me—I swear. I just know it did.
And then it wiggled more and twisted, and then it grew! It stretched the way cheese does when you eat pizza (Ew! Personally, I always pick the cheese off my pizza.) and towered above me. I screamed and hid behind the counter, shuddering in fear and peeking around the side to see. It was terrifying.
Ben had calmed himself down by then. He stepped into the kitchen calmly, but when he spotted the cheese instead of screaming like I had he clapped his hands. “It worked!” he laughed. “I can't believe it worked!”
Slowly, I stood up and looked at him. “Excuse me?” I asked. "What do you mean it worked?“
”Oh, simple,“ he grinned. ”I created a realistic cheese AI robot that detects with a bunch of tiny little sensors hidden every 2.30478657 nanometers, evenly spaced like pores, human flesh, so when you touched it with your bare hands it activated and began the sequence I coded it to do, which was in fact to give you the feeling you were being watched, which made you think the cheese was watching you, and then turn and twist a little bit, give a sort of preview of its malleability skills before the real show, which was stretching up the exact height of you and twisting more and just being cheesy in general.“ He laughed. ”Gotcha!"
⯌
685 words :0
note: I did not write a cheese story but I will still write a sci-fi cheese story
⯌
I opened the fridge and immediately reacted, slamming the door closed and throwing myself back. Something in there smelled real bad. I creeped closer, leaning back and stretching my arm out as far as it would go. I yanked it open with one hand, the other hand clasped across my face, pinching my nose shut. The smell burned my eyes. Who knew it'd be this difficult just to get a snack!
Quickly, my eyes scanned the shelves, searching for what I wanted. Ah, there it was, the box of chocolate cake sitting on the top shelf. There was something wrapped in tinfoil on top of it. I couldn't tell what was inside—chicken, maybe? It was wrapped poorly, like the person putting it away didn't care much about it. In the midst of the mystery, I realized I needed air and shut the fridge, gasping for non-stinky air. What was causing that stink?
And what was in the tinfoil?
I decided none of it mattered, and took as big of a breath as i could before pinching my nose again and opening the door. As carefully yet efficiently as i could, I removed the tinfoil to get to my cake and was hit with a wave of stink. It penetrated even my nose-pinching, and i dropped it in surprise—and disgust. When it hit the ground, the tinfoil unwrapped about halfway and I saw what was so stinky.
It was cheese.
Icky, gross, stinky, terrible, cheese.
Did I mention I absolutely despise cheese? It tastes absolutely terrible. The stink only makes it worse.
My nerdy older brother Ben rushed in at the sound of it hitting the floor and looked at me, his face a world of sadness and how-could-you eyes.
“Sorry,” I shrugged. After a moment of silence, I added, “Hey, at least it's still in the tinfoil. If it had fallen out you couldn't eat it. You'd never eat of the floor… right?”
He stared at me. The sadness had transformed into fury. "HOW COULD YOU?“ he yelled, trembling with anger. ”Now I have to start all over again!" he stomped away, and I snorted. He was such a weirdo.
I wrinkled my nose and tried to hold my breath while bending down so I could re-wrap the cheese in its tinfoil and set it on the counter. But when my hand brushed against the cold, moist, slightly smooth block, the cheese moved. And I don't just mean it jiggled a little when I poked it, I mean my finger barely touched it and the cheese was alive.
It turned and looked at me. Well, it didn't necessarily have eyes, but it still looked at me—I swear. I just know it did.
And then it wiggled more and twisted, and then it grew! It stretched the way cheese does when you eat pizza (Ew! Personally, I always pick the cheese off my pizza.) and towered above me. I screamed and hid behind the counter, shuddering in fear and peeking around the side to see. It was terrifying.
Ben had calmed himself down by then. He stepped into the kitchen calmly, but when he spotted the cheese instead of screaming like I had he clapped his hands. “It worked!” he laughed. “I can't believe it worked!”
Slowly, I stood up and looked at him. “Excuse me?” I asked. "What do you mean it worked?“
”Oh, simple,“ he grinned. ”I created a realistic cheese AI robot that detects with a bunch of tiny little sensors hidden every 2.30478657 nanometers, evenly spaced like pores, human flesh, so when you touched it with your bare hands it activated and began the sequence I coded it to do, which was in fact to give you the feeling you were being watched, which made you think the cheese was watching you, and then turn and twist a little bit, give a sort of preview of its malleability skills before the real show, which was stretching up the exact height of you and twisting more and just being cheesy in general.“ He laughed. ”Gotcha!"
⯌
685 words :0
Squidy-IceCream
loading
pollen dust challenge ⯌ january 6 ⯌ write a 400+ word fairy story
⯌
The forest was thick with tall, leafy trees of all different kinds: aspens, pines, maples, willows, and even cherry trees. The forest floor was scattered with wide patches of soft, long, wispy grass and wild blueberry bushes, and groups of mushrooms with candy red hats. Wildflowers of every color you could think of dotted the ground anywhere they could. There were no trails or signs in this forest - it was pure wild, a place no human had ever ventured, and no human ever would. At least, that's what everything and everyone living in the forest thought.
Inside a nearby castle, there was a girl named Eden Alder Bay-Wright. She was a famous, beautiful princess known all throughout the land for her stunning ocean blue eyes, smooth, pale skin, and strawberry blonde beach waves. But alas, she was only seven, and her constant princess duties had her exhausted and in need of escape. She needed to play and run free, as all children do.
Little did neither the people living in the castle nor the forest creatures know, they were neighbors. Separated only by a shimmering illusion cast by the most powerful enchantress ever, long, long ago, they had no idea there was life on the other side. They who lived in the forest only saw an empty, gray ocean that stretched on for miles if they dared to visit the border of the forest, and royalty glimpsed a dusty desert filled with cacti and sand dunes and brilliant rock formations, but also with deadly snakes, lack of water, and dreadfully hot temperatures.
Eden Alder Bay-Wright one day decided that she didn't feel like putting on a magnificent, puffy, sparkly dress that squeezed her waist and required a million petticoats that she tripped over. Instead, Eden wandered through her large closet, on a quest for something else. She didn't own any pants - those were for boys - but she did have a pretty white blouse that she was sometimes allowed to wear with a skirt. Eden grabbed a dark green skirt and slipped into it before tucking the blouse in and tying the laces tight enough that she still looked presentable but was comfortable. It was the most comfortable thing she owned, and yet it still sort of had a corset. It was soft, though, and her mother wasn't there to tell her to tie it tight. Lastly, she tore her hair out of its tight braids and let it hang loose, like a waterfall bouncing down her back. Her tiara was thrown to the floor. Eden looked in the mirror and smiled.
She grabbed her satchel and threw it over her shoulder, patting it to make sure it still had the snacks inside. It did. Eden then sneaked out of the castle. careful to avoid servants and guards, and slipped out. She knew the desert was dangerous - that it was hot, that there were snakes, and that there was no water - but she wasn't afraid, and she'd brung water with her. Eden stood before the illusion, took a deep breath, and stepped forward…
…into a world completely opposite of what she thought she'd be visiting. Eden explored for a while, running through meadows, climbing trees, making multiple flower crowns, and stuffing her face with blueberries until she was full and her lips were stained indigo. She lay down on the grass under a willow tree, and soon fell asleep.
She awoke suddenly after a strange dream in which she'd been the size of a ladybug. She flew through the air on a dragonfly's back, danced in a circle with other tiny people, and eaten a blueberry, which was bigger than her head and left her feeling as though she'd gobbled down a whole cake in one sitting. Then she'd had tea in a flower, and finally attended a party inside a mushroom. Eden rubbed her eyes. The dream had been very realistic.
“Eden… come back to us…” whispered a voice. Other voices repeated the first. “Eden… Eden…”
Surprised, Eden looked down and spotted the people she'd danced with in her dream. Only now, they were still small and she was big. “Oh, how I wish I could dance with you more,” she sighed. “But I probably have to get back to the castle. I'll be put in the kiddie-dungeon if they find out I've been here.”
“Stayy with uss….” hissed the people.
Eden rolled over to her stomach so she could see the people easier. “I told you, I must return home,” she said.
“You don't have to…” they whispered. “Stay here… it's your choice.” That was what really did it for Eden.
“Okay,” she decided. “But before we do anything, what are you?”
“Fairies!”
“Ooh, I like that idea,” she smiled, and the fairies held hands in a circle around Eden, who was delighted by the fact that she'd never have to wear those terrible dresses again. The fairies, once in a circle, began dancing and singing, and soon Eden was just as tiny as they were. She chose a cozy mushroom house to live in, and the royal family never saw her again.
⯌
854 words
⯌
The forest was thick with tall, leafy trees of all different kinds: aspens, pines, maples, willows, and even cherry trees. The forest floor was scattered with wide patches of soft, long, wispy grass and wild blueberry bushes, and groups of mushrooms with candy red hats. Wildflowers of every color you could think of dotted the ground anywhere they could. There were no trails or signs in this forest - it was pure wild, a place no human had ever ventured, and no human ever would. At least, that's what everything and everyone living in the forest thought.
Inside a nearby castle, there was a girl named Eden Alder Bay-Wright. She was a famous, beautiful princess known all throughout the land for her stunning ocean blue eyes, smooth, pale skin, and strawberry blonde beach waves. But alas, she was only seven, and her constant princess duties had her exhausted and in need of escape. She needed to play and run free, as all children do.
Little did neither the people living in the castle nor the forest creatures know, they were neighbors. Separated only by a shimmering illusion cast by the most powerful enchantress ever, long, long ago, they had no idea there was life on the other side. They who lived in the forest only saw an empty, gray ocean that stretched on for miles if they dared to visit the border of the forest, and royalty glimpsed a dusty desert filled with cacti and sand dunes and brilliant rock formations, but also with deadly snakes, lack of water, and dreadfully hot temperatures.
Eden Alder Bay-Wright one day decided that she didn't feel like putting on a magnificent, puffy, sparkly dress that squeezed her waist and required a million petticoats that she tripped over. Instead, Eden wandered through her large closet, on a quest for something else. She didn't own any pants - those were for boys - but she did have a pretty white blouse that she was sometimes allowed to wear with a skirt. Eden grabbed a dark green skirt and slipped into it before tucking the blouse in and tying the laces tight enough that she still looked presentable but was comfortable. It was the most comfortable thing she owned, and yet it still sort of had a corset. It was soft, though, and her mother wasn't there to tell her to tie it tight. Lastly, she tore her hair out of its tight braids and let it hang loose, like a waterfall bouncing down her back. Her tiara was thrown to the floor. Eden looked in the mirror and smiled.
She grabbed her satchel and threw it over her shoulder, patting it to make sure it still had the snacks inside. It did. Eden then sneaked out of the castle. careful to avoid servants and guards, and slipped out. She knew the desert was dangerous - that it was hot, that there were snakes, and that there was no water - but she wasn't afraid, and she'd brung water with her. Eden stood before the illusion, took a deep breath, and stepped forward…
…into a world completely opposite of what she thought she'd be visiting. Eden explored for a while, running through meadows, climbing trees, making multiple flower crowns, and stuffing her face with blueberries until she was full and her lips were stained indigo. She lay down on the grass under a willow tree, and soon fell asleep.
She awoke suddenly after a strange dream in which she'd been the size of a ladybug. She flew through the air on a dragonfly's back, danced in a circle with other tiny people, and eaten a blueberry, which was bigger than her head and left her feeling as though she'd gobbled down a whole cake in one sitting. Then she'd had tea in a flower, and finally attended a party inside a mushroom. Eden rubbed her eyes. The dream had been very realistic.
“Eden… come back to us…” whispered a voice. Other voices repeated the first. “Eden… Eden…”
Surprised, Eden looked down and spotted the people she'd danced with in her dream. Only now, they were still small and she was big. “Oh, how I wish I could dance with you more,” she sighed. “But I probably have to get back to the castle. I'll be put in the kiddie-dungeon if they find out I've been here.”
“Stayy with uss….” hissed the people.
Eden rolled over to her stomach so she could see the people easier. “I told you, I must return home,” she said.
“You don't have to…” they whispered. “Stay here… it's your choice.” That was what really did it for Eden.
“Okay,” she decided. “But before we do anything, what are you?”
“Fairies!”
“Ooh, I like that idea,” she smiled, and the fairies held hands in a circle around Eden, who was delighted by the fact that she'd never have to wear those terrible dresses again. The fairies, once in a circle, began dancing and singing, and soon Eden was just as tiny as they were. She chose a cozy mushroom house to live in, and the royal family never saw her again.
⯌
854 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ january 7 ⯌ in 350+ words, remake a fairy tale
⯌
“Don't talk to anyone, be polite to Gran, got it! Bye, Mum!” Poppy called over her shoulder as she ran out the door. The she ran back and closed it, and she was on her way. Her red cloak flapped and swished around as she skipped through the forest, swinging the basket of muffins as she went. There were twelve muffins in there of all different flavors—Gran liked variety—like blueberry and chocolate and pumpkin spice pecan. They smelled sooo good, and Poppy tried hard to ignore the burning want for one. Her mum's muffins were the best. Her stomach rumbled, and Poppy sighed. Gran wouldn't notice if there was one less muffin, right?
She always shared with Poppy, anyways. Poppy could wait—should be able to wait—fifteen minutes, until she arrived at Gran's cottage in Saint Wilfsten. Poppy lived in Joansberg, another tiny village, and the two towns were separated by a deep, dark forest full of wild animals and poisonous berries. In fact, it was so deep and dark that nobody knew its real name anymore. They just called it the Deep Dark Woods, and nobody went inside, except for Poppy.
See, Poppy enjoyed the woods. She enjoyed it because at home, or at school, or almost anywhere else, she was told she was too loud, very annoying, and talked too much. Sure, the woods were dangerous, and unfortunately her mother worried about her, but it was the only place where she felt peaceful; where she could be herself. Poppy was getting a bit tired, and sort of hungry, and she reached into her basket. “No! You mustn't eat them, save it for Gran's!” she told herself, shaking her head and sticking her hand into the pocket of her cloak, where it couldn't reach the basket.
Suddenly a tall shadow appeared in front of her, and Poppy jumped, startled. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I'm the only one who ever goes into these woods, ‘cause everybody else is too scared. I go here because they all think I’m too loud. But here I can be as loud as I want!” She switched to yelling. “And I know there's nothing scary in here, at least not that will hurt me. So tell me! Who. Are. You?”
“Oh, I am, um…” the shadow mumbled, stepping away from Poppy. "You are loud. I'm…“
”Well?!“
”You think nothing in here will hurt you, eh? Well guess what? I'm a big bad wolf, and I'll eat you up!“
Poppy rolled her eyes and stepped around the wolf, then continued on her way. She peeked over her shoulder. The wolf looked disappointing.
”Wait, is that—are those—“ The wolf sniffed loudly, so Poppy could hear. ”Muffins?! My favorite, how'd you know!“ The wolf threw himself back in front of Poppy. ”Give me the muffins or I'll eat you!“
”Nope.“ Poppy continued walking.
”What, what do mean ‘nope?’“
”I mean, no, I will not give you a muffin.“
”Hmm.“ The wolf disappeared.
Six minutes and 47 seconds later, Poppy knocked on her Gran's door. It was right on the edge of Saint Wilfsten, easily visible from the Deep Dark Woods. The door creaked open, and Poppy decided something looked a little different. Oh well, she decided—old people always looked weird.
”Gran, I missed you!“ she smiled and hugged her grandmother.
”Oh, me too… dear.“
”Why are you so tall?“
”Well, you know, all the better to reach the top shelves with! I've been going to the gym and eating healthy so I can get nice and tall.“
”And why are your eyes and ears so big?“
”The better to see and hear you with, dear.“
That was strange. Gran never called her ”dear.“ It was always just Poppy, or sometimes ”Sweetheart“ or ”Sugar Cookie.“ Oh well, maybe Gran had forgotten her name. Old people forgot things all the time. ”And why does your skin look so strange?“
”Oh, you know how it is, dear—“ Poppy shook her head. ”Really? Well, when you get old like me, your skin gets weird." Poppy shivered. She did not want to look like that one day.
“Ah… okay. And, one more thing—” Poppy squinted. “Why are your teeth so big and pointy?”
“Um…”
And then Poppy realized something. “WOLF!” she screamed and punched the imposter in the face again and again and again. “Where's my Gran?” she exclaimed angrily.
“Little girl, you definitely do talk too much,” the wolf said. “How about you stop that and I'll eat you. It'll be less painful that way.”
Poppy gasped. “Did you eat my gran?” she screamed, and began punching the wolf more and more and more. “And I won't be quiet, no matter what!” Then she punched the wolf's stomach so hard he threw up, and out of his mouth fell Gran.
“Poppy?” she mumbled. “You saved me!”
Poppy punched the wolf once more as hard as she could, and he flew out the door. “Never come back!” she called and helped Gran stand up.
Gran went and took a shower, while Poppy made tea and warmed up the muffins. When Gran returned, they sat down and had tea and muffins, and talked about how awesome Poppy's fist was.
The End
⯌
874 words (NOT INCLUDING “THE END”)
⯌
“Don't talk to anyone, be polite to Gran, got it! Bye, Mum!” Poppy called over her shoulder as she ran out the door. The she ran back and closed it, and she was on her way. Her red cloak flapped and swished around as she skipped through the forest, swinging the basket of muffins as she went. There were twelve muffins in there of all different flavors—Gran liked variety—like blueberry and chocolate and pumpkin spice pecan. They smelled sooo good, and Poppy tried hard to ignore the burning want for one. Her mum's muffins were the best. Her stomach rumbled, and Poppy sighed. Gran wouldn't notice if there was one less muffin, right?
She always shared with Poppy, anyways. Poppy could wait—should be able to wait—fifteen minutes, until she arrived at Gran's cottage in Saint Wilfsten. Poppy lived in Joansberg, another tiny village, and the two towns were separated by a deep, dark forest full of wild animals and poisonous berries. In fact, it was so deep and dark that nobody knew its real name anymore. They just called it the Deep Dark Woods, and nobody went inside, except for Poppy.
See, Poppy enjoyed the woods. She enjoyed it because at home, or at school, or almost anywhere else, she was told she was too loud, very annoying, and talked too much. Sure, the woods were dangerous, and unfortunately her mother worried about her, but it was the only place where she felt peaceful; where she could be herself. Poppy was getting a bit tired, and sort of hungry, and she reached into her basket. “No! You mustn't eat them, save it for Gran's!” she told herself, shaking her head and sticking her hand into the pocket of her cloak, where it couldn't reach the basket.
Suddenly a tall shadow appeared in front of her, and Poppy jumped, startled. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I'm the only one who ever goes into these woods, ‘cause everybody else is too scared. I go here because they all think I’m too loud. But here I can be as loud as I want!” She switched to yelling. “And I know there's nothing scary in here, at least not that will hurt me. So tell me! Who. Are. You?”
“Oh, I am, um…” the shadow mumbled, stepping away from Poppy. "You are loud. I'm…“
”Well?!“
”You think nothing in here will hurt you, eh? Well guess what? I'm a big bad wolf, and I'll eat you up!“
Poppy rolled her eyes and stepped around the wolf, then continued on her way. She peeked over her shoulder. The wolf looked disappointing.
”Wait, is that—are those—“ The wolf sniffed loudly, so Poppy could hear. ”Muffins?! My favorite, how'd you know!“ The wolf threw himself back in front of Poppy. ”Give me the muffins or I'll eat you!“
”Nope.“ Poppy continued walking.
”What, what do mean ‘nope?’“
”I mean, no, I will not give you a muffin.“
”Hmm.“ The wolf disappeared.
Six minutes and 47 seconds later, Poppy knocked on her Gran's door. It was right on the edge of Saint Wilfsten, easily visible from the Deep Dark Woods. The door creaked open, and Poppy decided something looked a little different. Oh well, she decided—old people always looked weird.
”Gran, I missed you!“ she smiled and hugged her grandmother.
”Oh, me too… dear.“
”Why are you so tall?“
”Well, you know, all the better to reach the top shelves with! I've been going to the gym and eating healthy so I can get nice and tall.“
”And why are your eyes and ears so big?“
”The better to see and hear you with, dear.“
That was strange. Gran never called her ”dear.“ It was always just Poppy, or sometimes ”Sweetheart“ or ”Sugar Cookie.“ Oh well, maybe Gran had forgotten her name. Old people forgot things all the time. ”And why does your skin look so strange?“
”Oh, you know how it is, dear—“ Poppy shook her head. ”Really? Well, when you get old like me, your skin gets weird." Poppy shivered. She did not want to look like that one day.
“Ah… okay. And, one more thing—” Poppy squinted. “Why are your teeth so big and pointy?”
“Um…”
And then Poppy realized something. “WOLF!” she screamed and punched the imposter in the face again and again and again. “Where's my Gran?” she exclaimed angrily.
“Little girl, you definitely do talk too much,” the wolf said. “How about you stop that and I'll eat you. It'll be less painful that way.”
Poppy gasped. “Did you eat my gran?” she screamed, and began punching the wolf more and more and more. “And I won't be quiet, no matter what!” Then she punched the wolf's stomach so hard he threw up, and out of his mouth fell Gran.
“Poppy?” she mumbled. “You saved me!”
Poppy punched the wolf once more as hard as she could, and he flew out the door. “Never come back!” she called and helped Gran stand up.
Gran went and took a shower, while Poppy made tea and warmed up the muffins. When Gran returned, they sat down and had tea and muffins, and talked about how awesome Poppy's fist was.
The End
⯌
874 words (NOT INCLUDING “THE END”)
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ january 8 ⯌ write a 300+ word cliffhanger
Mark Your Territory
⯌
Zennith Martino rubbed her eyes. “Are we almost…” she mumbled, then sat straight up as she remembered they'd arrived at the new planet the day before. Earth had been destroyed through a series of world wars, ending with the Great War of 3000. That had been the final straw, and Earth exploded just as the last few people were loaded into the starships, and they blasted off forever.
“Zennie,” her brother Luca whispered urgently. “Wake up, Zennie! Oh—good, you're awake.”
“What?”
''Listen,“ Luca began, then looked around quickly. There wasn't anybody there, just oodles of oddly shaped plants. Luca leaned in close and told her quietly, ”This isn't what we thought it'd be!“
”What are you talking about?“
”Well, this was supposed to be a peaceful expedition, right? A journey to a new planet, where everyone was in the same boat, because all of our homes had been destroyed?! Well, guess what they've gone and done?“
”Anything but behave peacefully.“ Zennie said slowly as realization hit her, and she suddenly noticed smoke in the distance. An explosion, perhaps.
”Right. As soon as China's, Russia's, and even our own USA's primary starships touched down, soldiers streamed out like ants from an anthill and began laying down cones, sticks, spray-paint, rocks, anything to mark their territory. More soldiers are down there with guns and mini-bombs, trying to destroy the competition. Other countries, too.“
Zennie gasped. ”No,“ she breathed. ”Why would they do that?“
”Well, some people are just like that I guess, and unfortunately they always end up being in charge,“ Luca explained. ”And humans are never without their flaws—which in this modern day and age is commonly greed and selfishness. And since this is a new planet, a place where all the land is untouched and free to take, they're going to fight for it.“
”This is ridiculous!“ Zennie fumed.
”I know, but there's nothing we can do to stop it.“
”You could probably do something,“ Zennie suggested. ”Seventeen is old enough to do something. Almost an adult, anyway“
”Sadly, it's not. I doubt even a real adult could do anything to stop this. We're going to destroy this planet with our wars before we even name it!“ he exclaimed angrily.
Zennie sighed.
Suddenly, a flamingo pink pod shaped like a pill rose out of the water near them. It hovered in the air, and a short, wide man in an army green suit and American flag tie hopped to the ground, squishing a few brilliant blue flowers. He dusted off his pants and stepped towards Zennie and Luca, stretched out his stubby arm and smiled. The smile seemed menacing, however, and Zennie couldn't help feeling unsafe. The way his eyes were still dead serious even though his lips curled up made her dislike the man immediately.
”Hello, dear children! I do believe you are thirteen years old and seventeen, yes?“
Zennie froze, intimidated, and Luca nudged her. They both nodded. ”Sorry, she's shy,“ he apologized, offering the winning grin that so many fell for. The same grin that made him such a good salesman when the two needed money after their parents had died, leaving them to fend for themselves.
”Brilliant!“ the man chuckled. ”That's great to hear; it means you're old enough to join the army!" He winked.
⯌
551 words
Mark Your Territory
⯌
Zennith Martino rubbed her eyes. “Are we almost…” she mumbled, then sat straight up as she remembered they'd arrived at the new planet the day before. Earth had been destroyed through a series of world wars, ending with the Great War of 3000. That had been the final straw, and Earth exploded just as the last few people were loaded into the starships, and they blasted off forever.
“Zennie,” her brother Luca whispered urgently. “Wake up, Zennie! Oh—good, you're awake.”
“What?”
''Listen,“ Luca began, then looked around quickly. There wasn't anybody there, just oodles of oddly shaped plants. Luca leaned in close and told her quietly, ”This isn't what we thought it'd be!“
”What are you talking about?“
”Well, this was supposed to be a peaceful expedition, right? A journey to a new planet, where everyone was in the same boat, because all of our homes had been destroyed?! Well, guess what they've gone and done?“
”Anything but behave peacefully.“ Zennie said slowly as realization hit her, and she suddenly noticed smoke in the distance. An explosion, perhaps.
”Right. As soon as China's, Russia's, and even our own USA's primary starships touched down, soldiers streamed out like ants from an anthill and began laying down cones, sticks, spray-paint, rocks, anything to mark their territory. More soldiers are down there with guns and mini-bombs, trying to destroy the competition. Other countries, too.“
Zennie gasped. ”No,“ she breathed. ”Why would they do that?“
”Well, some people are just like that I guess, and unfortunately they always end up being in charge,“ Luca explained. ”And humans are never without their flaws—which in this modern day and age is commonly greed and selfishness. And since this is a new planet, a place where all the land is untouched and free to take, they're going to fight for it.“
”This is ridiculous!“ Zennie fumed.
”I know, but there's nothing we can do to stop it.“
”You could probably do something,“ Zennie suggested. ”Seventeen is old enough to do something. Almost an adult, anyway“
”Sadly, it's not. I doubt even a real adult could do anything to stop this. We're going to destroy this planet with our wars before we even name it!“ he exclaimed angrily.
Zennie sighed.
Suddenly, a flamingo pink pod shaped like a pill rose out of the water near them. It hovered in the air, and a short, wide man in an army green suit and American flag tie hopped to the ground, squishing a few brilliant blue flowers. He dusted off his pants and stepped towards Zennie and Luca, stretched out his stubby arm and smiled. The smile seemed menacing, however, and Zennie couldn't help feeling unsafe. The way his eyes were still dead serious even though his lips curled up made her dislike the man immediately.
”Hello, dear children! I do believe you are thirteen years old and seventeen, yes?“
Zennie froze, intimidated, and Luca nudged her. They both nodded. ”Sorry, she's shy,“ he apologized, offering the winning grin that so many fell for. The same grin that made him such a good salesman when the two needed money after their parents had died, leaving them to fend for themselves.
”Brilliant!“ the man chuckled. ”That's great to hear; it means you're old enough to join the army!" He winked.
⯌
551 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ january 10 ⯌ write a prompt and pick a prompt; write 200 words
“Write a story in which all of the characters only have one word in each of their vocabularies.”
- gamerny
⯌
“Cake,” Cake announced sadly. "Cake… cake.“ He was speaking about the tragic death of his mother at her funeral. ”Cake, cake cake cake…“ he went on and on, talking about how lovely her smile was and how warm her hugs were, and how kind she was always. He spoke about her with love and sorrow, and told everyone that he missed her with all his heart. He finished his speech with a, ”Cake!“
”Runny,“ Runny sniffled. He was Cake's brother. ”Runny runny runny, runny. Runny runny.“ His was similar to Cake's, but he'd tweaked it a bit. ”Runny?“
Cake stepped back into the middle and held hands with his brother. Together, they said one more thing about their mother and bowed. They were crying at the end.
Caitlyn L. Cooper, New York Time's number one author, was standing off to the side, in the back, trying to get all this. She had written in her notebook that a man named ”Cake“ and his brother ”Runny“ were mourning the death of their mother. She wasn't quite sure what all the strange names were about, or why everyone seemed to understand what the men were saying when all she heard was ”Cake-cake-cake-cake-cake.“ She scribbled down that Cake only said ”cake“ and that Runny only said ”runny.“
Everyone in the audience began wailing and sobbing, and Caitlyn sighed. This was some news, for sure. Everybody would go crazy about it. A funeral where the only words spoken were ”Cake“ and ”Runny.“ Story of the year for sure. The crying continued, and she heard ”carrot“ ”jacket“ ”blanket“ ”disappointment" and other random words. Caitlyn groaned and left.
⯌
273 words
“Write a story in which all of the characters only have one word in each of their vocabularies.”
- gamerny
⯌
“Cake,” Cake announced sadly. "Cake… cake.“ He was speaking about the tragic death of his mother at her funeral. ”Cake, cake cake cake…“ he went on and on, talking about how lovely her smile was and how warm her hugs were, and how kind she was always. He spoke about her with love and sorrow, and told everyone that he missed her with all his heart. He finished his speech with a, ”Cake!“
”Runny,“ Runny sniffled. He was Cake's brother. ”Runny runny runny, runny. Runny runny.“ His was similar to Cake's, but he'd tweaked it a bit. ”Runny?“
Cake stepped back into the middle and held hands with his brother. Together, they said one more thing about their mother and bowed. They were crying at the end.
Caitlyn L. Cooper, New York Time's number one author, was standing off to the side, in the back, trying to get all this. She had written in her notebook that a man named ”Cake“ and his brother ”Runny“ were mourning the death of their mother. She wasn't quite sure what all the strange names were about, or why everyone seemed to understand what the men were saying when all she heard was ”Cake-cake-cake-cake-cake.“ She scribbled down that Cake only said ”cake“ and that Runny only said ”runny.“
Everyone in the audience began wailing and sobbing, and Caitlyn sighed. This was some news, for sure. Everybody would go crazy about it. A funeral where the only words spoken were ”Cake“ and ”Runny.“ Story of the year for sure. The crying continued, and she heard ”carrot“ ”jacket“ ”blanket“ ”disappointment" and other random words. Caitlyn groaned and left.
⯌
273 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
word war ⯌ january 12
⯌
Azure leapt up from her spot on the deck. She was supposed to be watching for a planet, but she'd gotten extremely bored. What is one meant to do with themselves when their life's purpose is to sit and wait and watch? It was the dullest thing she'd ever done, and Azure had fallen asleep. Now, she woke up with a start and through the thick glass spotted a dot in the distance. It was far away, and a light purple color with swirls of indigo.
“Land ho!” she called proudly through the speaker.
“What are you doing, get to work!” the captain yelled at her as he entered the room. It was a pod at the top of the ship, separate and isolated—which made everything even worse.
“Yes, sorry!” she saluted quickly and dashed out of the pod. Azure entered the glass transportation tube and pressed the button for the main control level. With a whoosh, the glass slid closed and she swished through the tube down to the middle of the ship, where scientists were studying and pilots were driving.
“Guys, I spotted the planet!” she announced happily but nobody paid any
⯌
195 words
⯌
Azure leapt up from her spot on the deck. She was supposed to be watching for a planet, but she'd gotten extremely bored. What is one meant to do with themselves when their life's purpose is to sit and wait and watch? It was the dullest thing she'd ever done, and Azure had fallen asleep. Now, she woke up with a start and through the thick glass spotted a dot in the distance. It was far away, and a light purple color with swirls of indigo.
“Land ho!” she called proudly through the speaker.
“What are you doing, get to work!” the captain yelled at her as he entered the room. It was a pod at the top of the ship, separate and isolated—which made everything even worse.
“Yes, sorry!” she saluted quickly and dashed out of the pod. Azure entered the glass transportation tube and pressed the button for the main control level. With a whoosh, the glass slid closed and she swished through the tube down to the middle of the ship, where scientists were studying and pilots were driving.
“Guys, I spotted the planet!” she announced happily but nobody paid any
⯌
195 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ january 15 ⯌ imagine you were in a video game and write 350+ words
⯌
I took a deep breath, sucking the cool air in through my mouth. The peppermint candy I rolled around with my tongue made it cold and sharp—refreshing. I tightened my fingers on the steering wheel and chewed my cheek nervously. My car never failed me, and I had complete confidence when racing little mushroom heads and goombas at home. I always won. But these were the big leagues—the real racers. Mario, Luigi, Peach, all of them. And they were good.
The lights above my head flashed yellow. “On your mark,” a voice announced. I rested my foot on the gas pedal, prepared to stomp it down.
“Get set,” it boomed. I wiggled my toes inside my driving shoes and readjusted my grip on the steering wheel again.
"GO!"
My foot went down and I pushed it as far as it would go. The car blasted off along with all the others, and I could see Mario easily pulling ahead. I yanked on the steering wheel, turning it until my arms were crossed over each other and then quickly turning it back the other way. The track swooped up, twisted down, loop-de-looped, and snaked around giant balls of yarn.
On my dashboard I saw that I was in third place. I couldn't let that happen. I zipped through a floating power-up box—a red shell, perfect! I spotted Yoshi ahead and pressed the button next to the wheel that sent the shell flying. It flashed towards Yoshi's kart, and he spun off to the side. I drove neatly around him and even collected a couple coins. My dashboard now showed a large silver 2, for second place. I guessed that I only had Mario left to pass, but instead I turned a corner and got just a glimpse of pink and yellow ahead. Peach. She disappeared down a hill, and I found another power up. It was a mushroom. I smiled and punched the button, and my kart felt like a rocket shooting into space. I laughed out loud; speed mushrooms were rare where I came from. It was fun! I shot past Peach and there was the finish line, right there in front of me. I was almost there, just one more second—
and then the blue shell hit me. I spun out, unable to regain control, and Peach, Mario, Luigi, Yoshi, and all of the rest flew past my poor kart, sitting there facing the wrong way in the middle of the road. A yarn ball rolled across, and the last racer—Baby Daisy—crashed into the cat that followed. Fortunately, I managed to turn around my kart just at that time, and cross the finish line second-to-last.
Sure, I hadn't won. Heck, I hadn't even gotten on the podium. I was practically last. But I didn't mind.
I'd just had the most fun I'd ever had in my life.
⯌
483 words
⯌
I took a deep breath, sucking the cool air in through my mouth. The peppermint candy I rolled around with my tongue made it cold and sharp—refreshing. I tightened my fingers on the steering wheel and chewed my cheek nervously. My car never failed me, and I had complete confidence when racing little mushroom heads and goombas at home. I always won. But these were the big leagues—the real racers. Mario, Luigi, Peach, all of them. And they were good.
The lights above my head flashed yellow. “On your mark,” a voice announced. I rested my foot on the gas pedal, prepared to stomp it down.
“Get set,” it boomed. I wiggled my toes inside my driving shoes and readjusted my grip on the steering wheel again.
"GO!"
My foot went down and I pushed it as far as it would go. The car blasted off along with all the others, and I could see Mario easily pulling ahead. I yanked on the steering wheel, turning it until my arms were crossed over each other and then quickly turning it back the other way. The track swooped up, twisted down, loop-de-looped, and snaked around giant balls of yarn.
On my dashboard I saw that I was in third place. I couldn't let that happen. I zipped through a floating power-up box—a red shell, perfect! I spotted Yoshi ahead and pressed the button next to the wheel that sent the shell flying. It flashed towards Yoshi's kart, and he spun off to the side. I drove neatly around him and even collected a couple coins. My dashboard now showed a large silver 2, for second place. I guessed that I only had Mario left to pass, but instead I turned a corner and got just a glimpse of pink and yellow ahead. Peach. She disappeared down a hill, and I found another power up. It was a mushroom. I smiled and punched the button, and my kart felt like a rocket shooting into space. I laughed out loud; speed mushrooms were rare where I came from. It was fun! I shot past Peach and there was the finish line, right there in front of me. I was almost there, just one more second—
and then the blue shell hit me. I spun out, unable to regain control, and Peach, Mario, Luigi, Yoshi, and all of the rest flew past my poor kart, sitting there facing the wrong way in the middle of the road. A yarn ball rolled across, and the last racer—Baby Daisy—crashed into the cat that followed. Fortunately, I managed to turn around my kart just at that time, and cross the finish line second-to-last.
Sure, I hadn't won. Heck, I hadn't even gotten on the podium. I was practically last. But I didn't mind.
I'd just had the most fun I'd ever had in my life.
⯌
483 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
january 23
⯌
I felt a burning need to help the girl standing in front of me. She had the most wonderful eyes I'd ever seen, smooth, even skin, and shiny hair that fell down her back in perfect curls. Yet she was so poor: I assumed she was wearing pants because she had to work; there was no other explanation for a girl not to wear a dress, and the pants were ripped, too—a huge, gaping holes showing her knees and shins. Besides, half of her torso was showing, which could only mean she couldn't buy enough fabric.
“Hi, I'm Lavender,” I told her. “Lavender Smith.” I stuck my hand out to greet her.
The girl hesitated, then took it and we shook hands. “Lyra.” I thought that was an interesting name, but it was pretty and so I played along, pretending like nothing was unusual at all.
"Very nice to meet you. Um, would you like my cardigan? You can keep it, too—I've got tons—it'll cover up… that.“ I said, shrugging off the pretty, forest green cardigan (which matched my minty colored dress quite nicely, but I was willing to give it up in order to assist the poor.)
”No thanks, I'm not cold.“ Lyra smiled and gently pushed the cardigan and my hand back towards me. I clutched it to my chest.
”But you need it You poor thing, you didn't even have enough fabric to make a whole top.“
”What?“ she squinted, confused. I was confused too.
”Well, clearly you're—excuse me but—poor.“
”No…“
”I don't understand, Lyra, why are you wearing ripped pants and a third of a top?“
”Because it's trendy.“
”I don't know what that means.“
”Who are you, anyways?"
⯌
288 words
⯌
I felt a burning need to help the girl standing in front of me. She had the most wonderful eyes I'd ever seen, smooth, even skin, and shiny hair that fell down her back in perfect curls. Yet she was so poor: I assumed she was wearing pants because she had to work; there was no other explanation for a girl not to wear a dress, and the pants were ripped, too—a huge, gaping holes showing her knees and shins. Besides, half of her torso was showing, which could only mean she couldn't buy enough fabric.
“Hi, I'm Lavender,” I told her. “Lavender Smith.” I stuck my hand out to greet her.
The girl hesitated, then took it and we shook hands. “Lyra.” I thought that was an interesting name, but it was pretty and so I played along, pretending like nothing was unusual at all.
"Very nice to meet you. Um, would you like my cardigan? You can keep it, too—I've got tons—it'll cover up… that.“ I said, shrugging off the pretty, forest green cardigan (which matched my minty colored dress quite nicely, but I was willing to give it up in order to assist the poor.)
”No thanks, I'm not cold.“ Lyra smiled and gently pushed the cardigan and my hand back towards me. I clutched it to my chest.
”But you need it You poor thing, you didn't even have enough fabric to make a whole top.“
”What?“ she squinted, confused. I was confused too.
”Well, clearly you're—excuse me but—poor.“
”No…“
”I don't understand, Lyra, why are you wearing ripped pants and a third of a top?“
”Because it's trendy.“
”I don't know what that means.“
”Who are you, anyways?"
⯌
288 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ march 4 ⯌ roll a dice to find out what tense and POV to write 300+ words in
(3 and 5 — past tense, 3rd person)
⯌
“Okay.” Lauryne swallowed and headed up the winding steps that led to the second floor. At the top, she hesitated, then pushed herself forward into the room.
It was actually an attic with very high, sloping ceilings that Matilda had converted to a library by putting lots of bookcases inside, and adding skylights. That was years before Lauryne was born, of course, back when Matilda was young enough to do that. Now she was too old. Lauryne dove into the rows and rows of shelves, searching for Jess. She peeked through the books to see the other aisles, but her friend wasn’t there. Lauryne weaved through the rows until she reached the end. There was Jess, leaning on her forearms against the wainscotting and gazing out the circular attic window. The bright blue sky beyond the glass was dotted with a few fluffy white clouds.
“Um… hi, Jess,” Lauryne said softly.
Jess spun to face her former friend, her long blonde hair whipping around and almost smacking Lauryne in the face. “Lauryne!” she cried, and for a moment it was visible that she missed her friend. But she quickly forced a frown, pretending she was still angry. “I… didn’t miss you.”
“I did. I missed you so much, so much that I sobbed for a whole day. Well, maybe not that long, but I was really sad. And then I saw you in the market and… I got really mad? So I ran into the forest and I went to the door, with that soft grass and pretty flowers everywhere, and I made a flower crown and cried some more. And then I realized it wasn’t your fault, but I don’t think it was really my fault either, we just kind of misunderstood or something, and then we were both mad and sad at the same time and so we weren’t friends anymore and I know that you were really sad too, you pretended not to want me anymore but you secretly missed me…” Lauryne paused to think. She’d rusehd all the way across town to reach the library and only focused on re-befriending Jess that she hadn’t thought about what she would say. Now she was rambling. Oh, and Boris! “Anyways, that doesn’t matter right now, because when I was walking back from the forest, this thingie jumped out at me and started attacking me! It was like… I don’t even know, short with tiny arms and legs and huge eyes and ears and hands and feet, and pointy claws and teeth. I named it Boris. It was really heavy. But you know, those kinds of weird creatures don’t exist here or anywhere. What I’m getting to is, there’s only one place it could have come from. The door. The same door you came from, and Sloane too.” Lauryne looked Jess in the eye.
⯌
475 words
(3 and 5 — past tense, 3rd person)
⯌
“Okay.” Lauryne swallowed and headed up the winding steps that led to the second floor. At the top, she hesitated, then pushed herself forward into the room.
It was actually an attic with very high, sloping ceilings that Matilda had converted to a library by putting lots of bookcases inside, and adding skylights. That was years before Lauryne was born, of course, back when Matilda was young enough to do that. Now she was too old. Lauryne dove into the rows and rows of shelves, searching for Jess. She peeked through the books to see the other aisles, but her friend wasn’t there. Lauryne weaved through the rows until she reached the end. There was Jess, leaning on her forearms against the wainscotting and gazing out the circular attic window. The bright blue sky beyond the glass was dotted with a few fluffy white clouds.
“Um… hi, Jess,” Lauryne said softly.
Jess spun to face her former friend, her long blonde hair whipping around and almost smacking Lauryne in the face. “Lauryne!” she cried, and for a moment it was visible that she missed her friend. But she quickly forced a frown, pretending she was still angry. “I… didn’t miss you.”
“I did. I missed you so much, so much that I sobbed for a whole day. Well, maybe not that long, but I was really sad. And then I saw you in the market and… I got really mad? So I ran into the forest and I went to the door, with that soft grass and pretty flowers everywhere, and I made a flower crown and cried some more. And then I realized it wasn’t your fault, but I don’t think it was really my fault either, we just kind of misunderstood or something, and then we were both mad and sad at the same time and so we weren’t friends anymore and I know that you were really sad too, you pretended not to want me anymore but you secretly missed me…” Lauryne paused to think. She’d rusehd all the way across town to reach the library and only focused on re-befriending Jess that she hadn’t thought about what she would say. Now she was rambling. Oh, and Boris! “Anyways, that doesn’t matter right now, because when I was walking back from the forest, this thingie jumped out at me and started attacking me! It was like… I don’t even know, short with tiny arms and legs and huge eyes and ears and hands and feet, and pointy claws and teeth. I named it Boris. It was really heavy. But you know, those kinds of weird creatures don’t exist here or anywhere. What I’m getting to is, there’s only one place it could have come from. The door. The same door you came from, and Sloane too.” Lauryne looked Jess in the eye.
⯌
475 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ march 6 ⯌ write 250 words in your own made up genre
⯌
The mango sitting in front of me finished its tap dance with a flourish, and bowed dramatically. Then it looked me in the eye, waiting. I hastily clapped.
“Thank you!” it exclaimed in its squeaky, high-pitched voice.
“Yup,” I replied. I stood up to leave, but its tiny yellow arm stretched four times its original size, shooting up towards me and wrapping around my shoulder. Dang it. I sighed and sat back down, propping my elbows on the tiled counter. Inches away from my poor elbows, the mango began dancing yet again. This time, it was a sort of ballet.
If I'm going to be honest, the mango was good at dancing—when it came to hip hop. Anything else and the performance was complete trash. But alas, it had a large ego and was convinced that all mangoes are dancing prodigies. They're not.
I had things to do and places to be, and that involved curling up in the sunny corner of my bedroom, where I had a big, soft beanbag waiting for me under the window and shelves and shelves and shelves of books, books, books.
I loved reading, and I wished dearly to get back to it, but this stupid mango was keeping me in my kitchen to watch it dance on top of my counter. The thing was, it was sort of my own fault I had to sit there watching it. I'd accidentally adopted it, and now I legally had a mango for a pet because I thought that mangoes were really cool. Clearly, that was before I had this terrible dancer live with me. I sighed. Next time I'm definitely going to get a turtle instead of a mango. Maybe I'll name it Gurtle.
⯌
290 words
⯌
The mango sitting in front of me finished its tap dance with a flourish, and bowed dramatically. Then it looked me in the eye, waiting. I hastily clapped.
“Thank you!” it exclaimed in its squeaky, high-pitched voice.
“Yup,” I replied. I stood up to leave, but its tiny yellow arm stretched four times its original size, shooting up towards me and wrapping around my shoulder. Dang it. I sighed and sat back down, propping my elbows on the tiled counter. Inches away from my poor elbows, the mango began dancing yet again. This time, it was a sort of ballet.
If I'm going to be honest, the mango was good at dancing—when it came to hip hop. Anything else and the performance was complete trash. But alas, it had a large ego and was convinced that all mangoes are dancing prodigies. They're not.
I had things to do and places to be, and that involved curling up in the sunny corner of my bedroom, where I had a big, soft beanbag waiting for me under the window and shelves and shelves and shelves of books, books, books.
I loved reading, and I wished dearly to get back to it, but this stupid mango was keeping me in my kitchen to watch it dance on top of my counter. The thing was, it was sort of my own fault I had to sit there watching it. I'd accidentally adopted it, and now I legally had a mango for a pet because I thought that mangoes were really cool. Clearly, that was before I had this terrible dancer live with me. I sighed. Next time I'm definitely going to get a turtle instead of a mango. Maybe I'll name it Gurtle.
⯌
290 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
weekly ⯌ march 3-10 ⯌ choose 6 prompts and write 200 words each
⯌
1 - Mythology
Genre Swap
The hallway, silent and peaceful minutes before, was now crowded with students. A girl with long, flowing hair and stunning features wearing a tight, short dress was leaning into her locker—there was a mirror insider— as she applied candy apple red to her plump, shiny lips. Surrounding her was a group of giggling friends, complimenting her. They talked about nothing but boys, boys, boys, and how every man in GMHS would love her. Nearby, close to the water fountain, a teenager dressed in black with long dark hair that fell over his eyes as he rolled them dramatically and walked away. Not too far from there, a tall guy with a lightning bolt on his hat was pounding a scrawny little dude into the ground.
The bell rang, louder than a helicopter to get everybody's attention over the noise. Kids rushed into their respective classrooms, and soon all was peaceful again. Inside room O-12, a small group of kids were quietly writing essays as the teacher sat and watched them, a smile gracing her kind face. A girl in the front row had been scribbling madly for about five minutes, then set her pencil down with satisfaction and stood up. In her hand she held a small stack of papers; perhaps four or five full pages of writing, which she then proceeded to hand to the teacher before leaving the class for the library to research something. Behind her now empty seat was another scholar who, also, was writing quite fast. He seemed to be erasing a lot, and when he was finally done after another ten minutes, he produced to the educator a single page. He'd written a glorious poem filled to the brim with emotion and description and metaphors he was quite proud of, and began trying to read it to her. The teacher, unfazed, simply took the poem and set it in her growing stack of essays. She then shooed him back to his seat.
The door banged open, and a dude in a leather jacket, buzz cut, and sword tattoo down his forearm barged in. He held a late pass and a maroon motorcycle helmet with flame stickers on the sides and top. He apologized for being tardy in a lazy voice and grinned at the class. The student then took his seat next to the girl who'd been doing her makeup in the hallway and the two began flirting, essays forgotten with ease. Seeing this, a guy near the window began laughing and teasing them loudly, making jokes about everyone in the room and goofing around. He was told to get back to work, and quickly wrote a couple “funny words” on his page, ignoring the blue horizontal lines glaring back up at him. Then the kid folded the page into a paper airplane, wrote his name carefully on the wing, and let it fly free. The little aircraft glided gently to a stop on top of the teacher's essay stack, which had begun the grading process.
After school that day a swim meet took place. As a muscular, handsome young man shot through the water, the one who'd written a poem instead of an essay was on the sidelines of the pool chanting something he'd likely made up himself. He was playing the guitar, too. He was the only cheerleader, but he cheered passionately for the muscular swimmer.
And so is an average day at Greek Mythology High School.
576 words :0
2 - Hi-Fi
Historical Figures in Modern Times
Amelia frowned down her newly-installed GPS. She didn't like it.
It was telling her to go north, that she'd run off course and needed to get back on, but she didn't believe it. She'd studied her map for hours the day before, and that morning, and she could tell from where the sun was that she was indeed pointed east. Down below lay rows and rows of green squares scattered with little red barns and little white houses and tiny little black dots—cows. That was how she knew she was at the right latitude, too—she wasn't flying extremely high so she could see the ground. If Amelia had looked down and seen sharp, pointy, peaks and rocky cliffs and dead, lonely trees, she was in the wrong place.
She didn't like flying over desolate areas. Even the ocean, like that one time, was better than an empty, gray mountain where everything's dead. At least the ocean had living things inside of it, that she just couldn't see. And honestly, the ocean was pretty. Dead mountain ranges that stretch on for eternity were not.
The GPS beeped again, pointing right. North. No. Amelia groaned and, spotting a bird ahead, quickly dipped the plane. Stupid birds. Stupid GPS. If only those annoying inventors could invent something for birds—that'd be much more useful than a GPS.
226 words
3 - Fairy Tales
An Enchanting Reunion: Multiple Fairy Tale Characters Meet Up With Each Other
A crowd of pretty girls in pretty dresses formed a crowd in the pretty room. It was an architectural masterpiece, with high ceilings and tall, arching windows that let the sunlight hit the patterned pink tile floor, making it glow rosy-golden. Paintings so magically realistic they looked better than photos perched proudly on the pastel walls, and a chandelier crafted of pure gold, adorned with thousands of diamond droplets hung from the sky.
All of the pretty girls with pretty dresses in the pretty room were princesses, but the scene was far from ladylike. One, clad in a flowy yellow and blue dress, had pale skin white as snow, bright lips red as cherries, and dark hair black as night. Surrounding her, whether they be swarmed around her feet or cradled in her arms or roosting on her shoulders, were animals—fuzzy chipmunks, soft bunnies, elegant songbirds, and a couple clumsy fawns. Another princess, this time wearing a puffy baby blue dress, left a trail of items behind her: first her shiny high heels, then her black choker necklace, and finally the dazzling headband that held her blonde waves piled atop her head. They collapsed down as the headband fell, cascading down her back in a waterfall of bouncy yellow hair. Yet another, wrapped sparkling purple, had somehow tossed her long, golden locks over one of the loops in the chandelier, and was now attempting to perform a sort of aerial dance for everybody. One princess, with wild red curls, had even taken off her dress, and, dressed in pants and a tunic, shot arrows so that they whizzed past heads, barely missing their skulls, and impaling the wall behind them.
A girl in a fancy yellow dress was yelling at them all, telling people to put their shoes back on their feet, descend from the chandelier, quit shooting arrows, and put their animals outside. She complained that she couldn't read with all the chaos going on.
327 words
4 - Folklore
Write a Story With a Moral
Two paths lay ahead of Wren: One, a dark twisted, alley-like route of narrow shadows and pointy boulders. Monsterous trees loomed overhead, threatening branches stretching out and shaking in the howling wind. Sight was limited to about twenty feet before all was swallowed into blackness, and blackness was all there was. Weeds and thorns scattered the overgrown yet empty space between towering oaks and dead maples.
The other path was a sunlit trail filled to the brim with fruit orchards and wildflowers and large patches of soft, wispy grass. Mushrooms dotted the forest floor and, through the leafy green canopy above, rays of golden light bounced down and made the place glow.
Naturally Wren chose the sunny, happy path, and got on her way. It was quite nice, and she even stopped to have a picnic underneath a sweet smelling pear tree. Wren skipped along the bright little path, wove flower crowns, and bit into juicy, deep violet plums.
After a while she reached another fork in the road. One continued straight ahead, and it seemed to be the same cheery, luscious forest she'd been on. Stretching to the right, not quite so fairy-tale but not exactly the bleak, dark, other road Wren could have taken earlier, was a normal looking path. Sunlight floated through the trees, which were magnificent willows and birches, and bushes and grass spread evenly through the land. It was pretty, Wren decided, but she much preferred the one she was one. Besides, the wooden sign which pointed that way read ONE MORE CHANCE TO TAKE THE HARD PATH. Wren wrinkled her nose, knowing it led to the scary trail, and walked forward to the nearest peach tree.
After lots more walking, there was yet another fork and another sign: FINAL OPPORTUNITY TO CHALLENGE YOURSELF. Farther, about ten feet into the glorious realm Wren had already decided she was staying in, was the last sign. It said ARE YOU SURE? OKAY THEN.
When she finally reached the end of the path, Wren realized she'd done everything wrong.
Lying ahead, past the lovely arch drenched in colorful roses and vines, was a dreary, lonely little square of cement. A few dying weeds had poked up through the concrete and were now drooping in despair. Surrounding the area were deep, dark woods that looked identical to the ones she'd refused earlier on in her journey. Wren had already stepped through the arch of roses, and she turned around to go back. But the arch was gone. So was any hint of the golden forest she'd just left.
429 words
5 - Choice
Magical Realism
Emily kneeled down, planting her delicate fingers on the ground beside her. The bunny was a French lop, it's long, floppy ears almost brushing the grass of Emily's little backyard and its creamy white fur changing slowly to a speckled gray at the bottom. On the top of its head there was more gray flecked with darker spots, which ran down over one eye and to its velvet soft pink nose. More gray spots splattered its back. Emily ran one hand over the soft fluff, keeping the other firmly on the lawn. She stroked its ears, scratched its head, and rubbed its belly, which everybody knows is the softest part of an animal. Emily decided right then and there that she loved bunnies.
Then it spoke.
When Emily began to pet its chin, the bunny sagged in a satisfied way and said, "Oohhh, that's the spot! Feels amazing.“
Emily jumped back, startled. The bunny she'd found in her yard was talking. She was half amazed, half frightened, and wasn't sure what to do.
”It's okay,“ it continued to talk in it's deep, smooth voice. ”Don't worry. I'm not a bad talking bunny. I think we should properly introduce ourselves. I'm Willow. And you are?“
Still stunned, Emily managed to stutter her name. ”Uh, how… h-how come you… c-can talk?“
”I don't know, I'm no scientist. Just a bunny that can talk.“ The bunny winked, and Emily blinked. She thought of all the cartoon bunnies that talked, but those rabbits always stood up and hopped around and at least acted like a human while it spoke. This bunny—Willow—just continued laying there in the grass, her mouth opening and closing when she said something.
”Okay…“
”Hey, uh, Emily,“ Willow said.
”Hmm?“
”You got any pumpkin seeds? I would also take berries. Actually, a nice mix of berries, almonds, and pumpkin seeds would be great!“
”Sure, um, I'll go get you a plate of berries and almonds.“
”And pumpkin seeds!“
”Yes, and pumpkin seeds," Emily replied and shook her head as she slid open the glass back doors, across the living room and through the kitchen and into the pantry. She grabbed the pumpkin seeds and, seeing that they didn't have almonds, a bag of pecans. Then, in the fridge, Emily found strawberries and blueberries. Everything was thrown on a plastic plate, and she took it back outside for Willow.
399 words
6 - Choice
Original Characters in Historical Times
Lauryne tugged at her dress. If only Jess was here, then they could go have milkshakes and crochet things. But no, they did not crochet here. And they had to wear terrible dresses that were so long you tripped over the hem and so tight you could hardly breath. Lauryne would much rather wear a sweater, hand made by Jess, and a comfy pair of old, soft jeans.
“Get back to sewing and stop daydreaming!” Mum yelled. Oops, Lauryne meant mom—it was also America here, and that meant she had to speak all weird.
“Sorry!” Lauryne replied, swallowing her accent with a sad little gulp and poking her needle into the layers of minty fabric. The dark thread slipped out of the eye again. “Gosh darn it, why does this keep happening?!” she mumbled. Lauryne licked the thread and put it back into the eye of the needle, but it slid out again.
“I said, get goin'!”
“I'm sorry! The thread keeps running away!” Lauryne imagined a piece of thread growing little legs and arms, and having a tiny face, and climbing out of the needle. It'd drop to the ground, letting its long tail slither behind, following it as it escaped the terror of being sewn with.
“Then put it back in. Goodness, crazy girl,” Mom rolled her eyes and continued what she was doing—baking bread. Why did this historical world have to be so boring? Lauryne had made a terrible choice when she'd entered it. See, she was on her way back from visiting Jess, when a certain door caught her eye. It was all cowboys and vintage, and Lauryne remembered the exciting western movies she'd watched at home, so she'd gave it a try.
Turns out, girl life in America in the 1880s was boring. Lauryne wanted to leave; she knew how. The key was right there in the pocket of the apron she was wearing over the annoying dress, but Mom wouldn't let her until she finished sewing.
332 words
⯌
total word count: 2,292 words :0
⯌
1 - Mythology
Genre Swap
The hallway, silent and peaceful minutes before, was now crowded with students. A girl with long, flowing hair and stunning features wearing a tight, short dress was leaning into her locker—there was a mirror insider— as she applied candy apple red to her plump, shiny lips. Surrounding her was a group of giggling friends, complimenting her. They talked about nothing but boys, boys, boys, and how every man in GMHS would love her. Nearby, close to the water fountain, a teenager dressed in black with long dark hair that fell over his eyes as he rolled them dramatically and walked away. Not too far from there, a tall guy with a lightning bolt on his hat was pounding a scrawny little dude into the ground.
The bell rang, louder than a helicopter to get everybody's attention over the noise. Kids rushed into their respective classrooms, and soon all was peaceful again. Inside room O-12, a small group of kids were quietly writing essays as the teacher sat and watched them, a smile gracing her kind face. A girl in the front row had been scribbling madly for about five minutes, then set her pencil down with satisfaction and stood up. In her hand she held a small stack of papers; perhaps four or five full pages of writing, which she then proceeded to hand to the teacher before leaving the class for the library to research something. Behind her now empty seat was another scholar who, also, was writing quite fast. He seemed to be erasing a lot, and when he was finally done after another ten minutes, he produced to the educator a single page. He'd written a glorious poem filled to the brim with emotion and description and metaphors he was quite proud of, and began trying to read it to her. The teacher, unfazed, simply took the poem and set it in her growing stack of essays. She then shooed him back to his seat.
The door banged open, and a dude in a leather jacket, buzz cut, and sword tattoo down his forearm barged in. He held a late pass and a maroon motorcycle helmet with flame stickers on the sides and top. He apologized for being tardy in a lazy voice and grinned at the class. The student then took his seat next to the girl who'd been doing her makeup in the hallway and the two began flirting, essays forgotten with ease. Seeing this, a guy near the window began laughing and teasing them loudly, making jokes about everyone in the room and goofing around. He was told to get back to work, and quickly wrote a couple “funny words” on his page, ignoring the blue horizontal lines glaring back up at him. Then the kid folded the page into a paper airplane, wrote his name carefully on the wing, and let it fly free. The little aircraft glided gently to a stop on top of the teacher's essay stack, which had begun the grading process.
After school that day a swim meet took place. As a muscular, handsome young man shot through the water, the one who'd written a poem instead of an essay was on the sidelines of the pool chanting something he'd likely made up himself. He was playing the guitar, too. He was the only cheerleader, but he cheered passionately for the muscular swimmer.
And so is an average day at Greek Mythology High School.
576 words :0
2 - Hi-Fi
Historical Figures in Modern Times
Amelia frowned down her newly-installed GPS. She didn't like it.
It was telling her to go north, that she'd run off course and needed to get back on, but she didn't believe it. She'd studied her map for hours the day before, and that morning, and she could tell from where the sun was that she was indeed pointed east. Down below lay rows and rows of green squares scattered with little red barns and little white houses and tiny little black dots—cows. That was how she knew she was at the right latitude, too—she wasn't flying extremely high so she could see the ground. If Amelia had looked down and seen sharp, pointy, peaks and rocky cliffs and dead, lonely trees, she was in the wrong place.
She didn't like flying over desolate areas. Even the ocean, like that one time, was better than an empty, gray mountain where everything's dead. At least the ocean had living things inside of it, that she just couldn't see. And honestly, the ocean was pretty. Dead mountain ranges that stretch on for eternity were not.
The GPS beeped again, pointing right. North. No. Amelia groaned and, spotting a bird ahead, quickly dipped the plane. Stupid birds. Stupid GPS. If only those annoying inventors could invent something for birds—that'd be much more useful than a GPS.
226 words
3 - Fairy Tales
An Enchanting Reunion: Multiple Fairy Tale Characters Meet Up With Each Other
A crowd of pretty girls in pretty dresses formed a crowd in the pretty room. It was an architectural masterpiece, with high ceilings and tall, arching windows that let the sunlight hit the patterned pink tile floor, making it glow rosy-golden. Paintings so magically realistic they looked better than photos perched proudly on the pastel walls, and a chandelier crafted of pure gold, adorned with thousands of diamond droplets hung from the sky.
All of the pretty girls with pretty dresses in the pretty room were princesses, but the scene was far from ladylike. One, clad in a flowy yellow and blue dress, had pale skin white as snow, bright lips red as cherries, and dark hair black as night. Surrounding her, whether they be swarmed around her feet or cradled in her arms or roosting on her shoulders, were animals—fuzzy chipmunks, soft bunnies, elegant songbirds, and a couple clumsy fawns. Another princess, this time wearing a puffy baby blue dress, left a trail of items behind her: first her shiny high heels, then her black choker necklace, and finally the dazzling headband that held her blonde waves piled atop her head. They collapsed down as the headband fell, cascading down her back in a waterfall of bouncy yellow hair. Yet another, wrapped sparkling purple, had somehow tossed her long, golden locks over one of the loops in the chandelier, and was now attempting to perform a sort of aerial dance for everybody. One princess, with wild red curls, had even taken off her dress, and, dressed in pants and a tunic, shot arrows so that they whizzed past heads, barely missing their skulls, and impaling the wall behind them.
A girl in a fancy yellow dress was yelling at them all, telling people to put their shoes back on their feet, descend from the chandelier, quit shooting arrows, and put their animals outside. She complained that she couldn't read with all the chaos going on.
327 words
4 - Folklore
Write a Story With a Moral
Two paths lay ahead of Wren: One, a dark twisted, alley-like route of narrow shadows and pointy boulders. Monsterous trees loomed overhead, threatening branches stretching out and shaking in the howling wind. Sight was limited to about twenty feet before all was swallowed into blackness, and blackness was all there was. Weeds and thorns scattered the overgrown yet empty space between towering oaks and dead maples.
The other path was a sunlit trail filled to the brim with fruit orchards and wildflowers and large patches of soft, wispy grass. Mushrooms dotted the forest floor and, through the leafy green canopy above, rays of golden light bounced down and made the place glow.
Naturally Wren chose the sunny, happy path, and got on her way. It was quite nice, and she even stopped to have a picnic underneath a sweet smelling pear tree. Wren skipped along the bright little path, wove flower crowns, and bit into juicy, deep violet plums.
After a while she reached another fork in the road. One continued straight ahead, and it seemed to be the same cheery, luscious forest she'd been on. Stretching to the right, not quite so fairy-tale but not exactly the bleak, dark, other road Wren could have taken earlier, was a normal looking path. Sunlight floated through the trees, which were magnificent willows and birches, and bushes and grass spread evenly through the land. It was pretty, Wren decided, but she much preferred the one she was one. Besides, the wooden sign which pointed that way read ONE MORE CHANCE TO TAKE THE HARD PATH. Wren wrinkled her nose, knowing it led to the scary trail, and walked forward to the nearest peach tree.
After lots more walking, there was yet another fork and another sign: FINAL OPPORTUNITY TO CHALLENGE YOURSELF. Farther, about ten feet into the glorious realm Wren had already decided she was staying in, was the last sign. It said ARE YOU SURE? OKAY THEN.
When she finally reached the end of the path, Wren realized she'd done everything wrong.
Lying ahead, past the lovely arch drenched in colorful roses and vines, was a dreary, lonely little square of cement. A few dying weeds had poked up through the concrete and were now drooping in despair. Surrounding the area were deep, dark woods that looked identical to the ones she'd refused earlier on in her journey. Wren had already stepped through the arch of roses, and she turned around to go back. But the arch was gone. So was any hint of the golden forest she'd just left.
429 words
5 - Choice
Magical Realism
Emily kneeled down, planting her delicate fingers on the ground beside her. The bunny was a French lop, it's long, floppy ears almost brushing the grass of Emily's little backyard and its creamy white fur changing slowly to a speckled gray at the bottom. On the top of its head there was more gray flecked with darker spots, which ran down over one eye and to its velvet soft pink nose. More gray spots splattered its back. Emily ran one hand over the soft fluff, keeping the other firmly on the lawn. She stroked its ears, scratched its head, and rubbed its belly, which everybody knows is the softest part of an animal. Emily decided right then and there that she loved bunnies.
Then it spoke.
When Emily began to pet its chin, the bunny sagged in a satisfied way and said, "Oohhh, that's the spot! Feels amazing.“
Emily jumped back, startled. The bunny she'd found in her yard was talking. She was half amazed, half frightened, and wasn't sure what to do.
”It's okay,“ it continued to talk in it's deep, smooth voice. ”Don't worry. I'm not a bad talking bunny. I think we should properly introduce ourselves. I'm Willow. And you are?“
Still stunned, Emily managed to stutter her name. ”Uh, how… h-how come you… c-can talk?“
”I don't know, I'm no scientist. Just a bunny that can talk.“ The bunny winked, and Emily blinked. She thought of all the cartoon bunnies that talked, but those rabbits always stood up and hopped around and at least acted like a human while it spoke. This bunny—Willow—just continued laying there in the grass, her mouth opening and closing when she said something.
”Okay…“
”Hey, uh, Emily,“ Willow said.
”Hmm?“
”You got any pumpkin seeds? I would also take berries. Actually, a nice mix of berries, almonds, and pumpkin seeds would be great!“
”Sure, um, I'll go get you a plate of berries and almonds.“
”And pumpkin seeds!“
”Yes, and pumpkin seeds," Emily replied and shook her head as she slid open the glass back doors, across the living room and through the kitchen and into the pantry. She grabbed the pumpkin seeds and, seeing that they didn't have almonds, a bag of pecans. Then, in the fridge, Emily found strawberries and blueberries. Everything was thrown on a plastic plate, and she took it back outside for Willow.
399 words
6 - Choice
Original Characters in Historical Times
Lauryne tugged at her dress. If only Jess was here, then they could go have milkshakes and crochet things. But no, they did not crochet here. And they had to wear terrible dresses that were so long you tripped over the hem and so tight you could hardly breath. Lauryne would much rather wear a sweater, hand made by Jess, and a comfy pair of old, soft jeans.
“Get back to sewing and stop daydreaming!” Mum yelled. Oops, Lauryne meant mom—it was also America here, and that meant she had to speak all weird.
“Sorry!” Lauryne replied, swallowing her accent with a sad little gulp and poking her needle into the layers of minty fabric. The dark thread slipped out of the eye again. “Gosh darn it, why does this keep happening?!” she mumbled. Lauryne licked the thread and put it back into the eye of the needle, but it slid out again.
“I said, get goin'!”
“I'm sorry! The thread keeps running away!” Lauryne imagined a piece of thread growing little legs and arms, and having a tiny face, and climbing out of the needle. It'd drop to the ground, letting its long tail slither behind, following it as it escaped the terror of being sewn with.
“Then put it back in. Goodness, crazy girl,” Mom rolled her eyes and continued what she was doing—baking bread. Why did this historical world have to be so boring? Lauryne had made a terrible choice when she'd entered it. See, she was on her way back from visiting Jess, when a certain door caught her eye. It was all cowboys and vintage, and Lauryne remembered the exciting western movies she'd watched at home, so she'd gave it a try.
Turns out, girl life in America in the 1880s was boring. Lauryne wanted to leave; she knew how. The key was right there in the pocket of the apron she was wearing over the annoying dress, but Mom wouldn't let her until she finished sewing.
332 words
⯌
total word count: 2,292 words :0
Squidy-IceCream
loading
lil' poem 
⯌
Oh, innocence, I
Remember wondering how
Great you'd be when gone
⯌
ta-da! xD 11 words
⯌
Oh, innocence, I
Remember wondering how
Great you'd be when gone
⯌
ta-da! xD 11 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
collection of haikus about my novel hehehe
⯌
minty ice cream cake
Milkshakes, checkered crochet scarves
Darling Jess, you're missed.
⯌
⯌
The door is pretty:
delicate painted flowers,
shiny copper knob.
⯌
⯌
mysterious man
he calls himself The Inkist
cross, yet talented
⯌
32 words total
⯌
minty ice cream cake
Milkshakes, checkered crochet scarves
Darling Jess, you're missed.
⯌
⯌
The door is pretty:
delicate painted flowers,
shiny copper knob.
⯌
⯌
mysterious man
he calls himself The Inkist
cross, yet talented
⯌
32 words total
Squidy-IceCream
loading
yet another haiku because I like them 
⯌
ah, what a moment
a peaceful slice of silence
loud noise overwhelms
⯌
12 words
⯌
ah, what a moment
a peaceful slice of silence
loud noise overwhelms
⯌
12 words
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ march 20 ⯌ write 200 words of poetry
haiku
⯌
past rows of tulips,
by gypsophilas, and through
fields of daisies
⯌
haikus that go together
⯌
keep in mind always:
oversimplification
might not be the key
⯌
though still remember
over-complication is
too complicated.
⯌
another haiku but it's unrelated
⯌
not ordinary
creative, intelligent
hmm… genius maybe?
⯌
another haiku bwahahaha
⯌
a map of the world
it's an interesting thing
so many countries
⯌
one last haiku because I need 10 more words
⯌
to travel the world
is a wish many do have
I've begun early!
⯌
limerick
⯌
atop the stove sits baking,
a morning full of pancaking.
breakfast, a world of eggs and toast
buttery muffins, and importantly most
we can't forget the crispy bacon.
⯌
another limerick
⯌
melty vanilla shakes
ribbons of caramel like snakes
sugar muffins so sweet
I think it's time to eat
those tiny little cakes
⯌
continuation of the above limerick
⯌
glazed doughnuts galore
the sprinkles atop I adore
palačinky with chocolate
maybe a banana split
oh, and pie—of that we need more!
⯌
another limerick I suppose
⯌
wrap wrap wrap wrap wrap DOUBLE STAR
no! my leg hit the door, why was it ajar?
now sink into my pretty splits
my back bent so far I might be in bits
oops I burnt myself, hope it doesn't leave a scar
⯌
more limericks because I need more words ugh
⯌
to start, find a pencil
so far; plenty of potential
start sketching, oh it looks so good
more details? I don't know if I should
I think they're not essential.
⯌
205 total!!!! :0 so many poems bwahaha
haiku
⯌
past rows of tulips,
by gypsophilas, and through
fields of daisies
⯌
haikus that go together
⯌
keep in mind always:
oversimplification
might not be the key
⯌
though still remember
over-complication is
too complicated.
⯌
another haiku but it's unrelated
⯌
not ordinary
creative, intelligent
hmm… genius maybe?
⯌
another haiku bwahahaha
⯌
a map of the world
it's an interesting thing
so many countries
⯌
one last haiku because I need 10 more words
⯌
to travel the world
is a wish many do have
I've begun early!
⯌
limerick
⯌
atop the stove sits baking,
a morning full of pancaking.
breakfast, a world of eggs and toast
buttery muffins, and importantly most
we can't forget the crispy bacon.
⯌
another limerick
⯌
melty vanilla shakes
ribbons of caramel like snakes
sugar muffins so sweet
I think it's time to eat
those tiny little cakes
⯌
continuation of the above limerick
⯌
glazed doughnuts galore
the sprinkles atop I adore
palačinky with chocolate
maybe a banana split
oh, and pie—of that we need more!
⯌
another limerick I suppose
⯌
wrap wrap wrap wrap wrap DOUBLE STAR
no! my leg hit the door, why was it ajar?
now sink into my pretty splits
my back bent so far I might be in bits
oops I burnt myself, hope it doesn't leave a scar
⯌
more limericks because I need more words ugh
⯌
to start, find a pencil
so far; plenty of potential
start sketching, oh it looks so good
more details? I don't know if I should
I think they're not essential.
⯌
205 total!!!! :0 so many poems bwahaha
Squidy-IceCream
loading
daily ⯌ march 30 ⯌ write 200 words about someone getting the superpower they don't want
⯌
Kendall opened her eyes. The golden morning light drifted through the blinds of her window, illuminating the tiny specks of dust floating in the air. She quickly shut them again, hoping to fall asleep and slip into the marvelous world of her dreams.
It didn't work. Kendall opened them.
She sighed. The bed was so warm, so soft and comfortable and cozy. She wished dearly that she didn't have to go to school. That she could stay in bed and dream all day.
The birds chirped, flitting about the pear tree outside as they sang the sweet song of dawn. Kendall sat up and peeked through the blinds, holding two apart with her fingers as she gazed outside. It was a nice day: barely any breeze, a bright sun, and a few white clouds that looked like whipped cream sitting near the horizon. Kendall looked back at the birds. She wanted to be like them; to be able to lift her arms–wings, they'd be–and fly. To see a sparkling, perfect pear far above her head, and simply rise off the ground and get it.
A bunny hopped across the grass below the pear tree. Kendall wrinkled her nose. They were cute, but she liked the birds much better. They hung around the pear tree, her favorite fruit, and had beautiful, colorful feathers, and most importantly: they could fly.
Bunnies could not fly. They did not eat the pears, because the pears were too high. They did not have beautiful, colorful feathers, only brown and gray and white fur. And they could only hop to get around.
Kendall did not want to be a bunny.
A caterpillar inched across the windowsill on the outside. Kendall looked at it very closely, her eyes crossing slightly. She supposed being a caterpillar wouldn't be too bad. They were colorful, after all, and could climb up the tree to eat pears. But they still couldn't fly, so it wasn't as good as a bird.
She flipped the robin's egg blue comforter back towards the foot of the bed and slid out. Then she pulled off her pajamas and tugged on a pair of dark green leggings and a stripey crew neck sweatshirt. Then Kendall tied her white sneakers and went into the kitchen for breakfast.
There, Mum was scrambling eggs. Kendall watched, dully interested, as her mother expertly cracked, whipped, and poured the tangerine colored eggs in the pan. The yolks were very orange, not yellow like ones from the store. That was because Kendall and Mum had chickens, five of them: Jen, Jean, Jane, June, and Lila.
Kendall didn't like the chickens. She liked eating scrambled eggs, though, so she thought it was alright to keep them. She definitely did not want to be a chicken. They were hardly birds. All they do is lay eggs and flap their feathers, and they can't fly. Kendall would much rather be a cardinal, or a wren, or a finch. A hummingbird would be brilliant, though she supposed they got quite tired. They flap their wings eighty times per second.
She ate her eggs, brushed her teeth, and then went outside to play in the tree. Last summer Kendall had attached a rope to one of the branches, and tied the other end around a tire to make a swing. Now she sat on top of it, positioning herself so that the rope looped tightly around the strong rubber was in between her legs. Then she put her hand out, arm straight, and pushed against the tree so that she began to swing parallel to the trunk. She swung higher, and higher, soaring above the grass. It was like being a cardinal or a wren or a finch, almost. She rose up, swooped down, then rose up again. This process was repeated over and over, until she was higher than the birds perched on their branches and nibbling the pears. Kendall then put her legs on the bottom of the tire, in the hole, and stood up. She stepped up, so she was standing on top of the tire as it swayed and twirled. Finally, Kendall gathered all of her courage and leapt off the tire. It continued to swing. She floated through the air. She was flying. Time was slowed and Kendall was suspended there, a few inches from the pears, many feet above the ground. She reached out for a pear. Then everything sped up again and she crashed to the ground, landing with a graceful roll in the soft grass. She looked up. The grass was awfully tall, stretching miles above her head. A glint of light green–a pear–was hardly visible through the forest of grass. Kendall reached up for it, and realized she didn't have arms. Where did they go? Kendall looked down. She didn't have arms. She wasn't wearing her stripey sweatshirt and dark green leggings anymore, either. Or her white shoes. Instead, she saw a colorful body with lots of little black legs. Kendall was a caterpillar.
⯌
836 words
⯌
Kendall opened her eyes. The golden morning light drifted through the blinds of her window, illuminating the tiny specks of dust floating in the air. She quickly shut them again, hoping to fall asleep and slip into the marvelous world of her dreams.
It didn't work. Kendall opened them.
She sighed. The bed was so warm, so soft and comfortable and cozy. She wished dearly that she didn't have to go to school. That she could stay in bed and dream all day.
The birds chirped, flitting about the pear tree outside as they sang the sweet song of dawn. Kendall sat up and peeked through the blinds, holding two apart with her fingers as she gazed outside. It was a nice day: barely any breeze, a bright sun, and a few white clouds that looked like whipped cream sitting near the horizon. Kendall looked back at the birds. She wanted to be like them; to be able to lift her arms–wings, they'd be–and fly. To see a sparkling, perfect pear far above her head, and simply rise off the ground and get it.
A bunny hopped across the grass below the pear tree. Kendall wrinkled her nose. They were cute, but she liked the birds much better. They hung around the pear tree, her favorite fruit, and had beautiful, colorful feathers, and most importantly: they could fly.
Bunnies could not fly. They did not eat the pears, because the pears were too high. They did not have beautiful, colorful feathers, only brown and gray and white fur. And they could only hop to get around.
Kendall did not want to be a bunny.
A caterpillar inched across the windowsill on the outside. Kendall looked at it very closely, her eyes crossing slightly. She supposed being a caterpillar wouldn't be too bad. They were colorful, after all, and could climb up the tree to eat pears. But they still couldn't fly, so it wasn't as good as a bird.
She flipped the robin's egg blue comforter back towards the foot of the bed and slid out. Then she pulled off her pajamas and tugged on a pair of dark green leggings and a stripey crew neck sweatshirt. Then Kendall tied her white sneakers and went into the kitchen for breakfast.
There, Mum was scrambling eggs. Kendall watched, dully interested, as her mother expertly cracked, whipped, and poured the tangerine colored eggs in the pan. The yolks were very orange, not yellow like ones from the store. That was because Kendall and Mum had chickens, five of them: Jen, Jean, Jane, June, and Lila.
Kendall didn't like the chickens. She liked eating scrambled eggs, though, so she thought it was alright to keep them. She definitely did not want to be a chicken. They were hardly birds. All they do is lay eggs and flap their feathers, and they can't fly. Kendall would much rather be a cardinal, or a wren, or a finch. A hummingbird would be brilliant, though she supposed they got quite tired. They flap their wings eighty times per second.
She ate her eggs, brushed her teeth, and then went outside to play in the tree. Last summer Kendall had attached a rope to one of the branches, and tied the other end around a tire to make a swing. Now she sat on top of it, positioning herself so that the rope looped tightly around the strong rubber was in between her legs. Then she put her hand out, arm straight, and pushed against the tree so that she began to swing parallel to the trunk. She swung higher, and higher, soaring above the grass. It was like being a cardinal or a wren or a finch, almost. She rose up, swooped down, then rose up again. This process was repeated over and over, until she was higher than the birds perched on their branches and nibbling the pears. Kendall then put her legs on the bottom of the tire, in the hole, and stood up. She stepped up, so she was standing on top of the tire as it swayed and twirled. Finally, Kendall gathered all of her courage and leapt off the tire. It continued to swing. She floated through the air. She was flying. Time was slowed and Kendall was suspended there, a few inches from the pears, many feet above the ground. She reached out for a pear. Then everything sped up again and she crashed to the ground, landing with a graceful roll in the soft grass. She looked up. The grass was awfully tall, stretching miles above her head. A glint of light green–a pear–was hardly visible through the forest of grass. Kendall reached up for it, and realized she didn't have arms. Where did they go? Kendall looked down. She didn't have arms. She wasn't wearing her stripey sweatshirt and dark green leggings anymore, either. Or her white shoes. Instead, she saw a colorful body with lots of little black legs. Kendall was a caterpillar.
⯌
836 words