☣️ | rainy’s march 24 swc thread
id: 745825
category: Things I'm Making and Creating
posts: 22
rainy-rayne
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hey there! i’m rainy! welcome to my march 24 swc thread
i dont want to have to say this but please dont add to this thread so that i can keep it organized ^^
i dont want to have to say this but please dont add to this thread so that i can keep it organized ^^
cabin : sci-fi
word goal : 35k
session count : 6?
pronouns : she/her
rainy-rayne
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daily 7 - 1592/200 words
make a new genre
genre: historical paranormal queer romance (!)
heres my original plan, i cut it short because it ended up being wayy too long
lydia’s confident but sorta unstable. she goes to the ball at a “haunted” estate. she’s sent out of the ballroom after she’s too loud or annoying and she meets another young girl named alice, who feels bad for her and asks her for a dance (as a joke). they dance together in the cold night air to the music that drifts through the walls. after the ball’s over and lydia goes home, she realizes that she has a big ol fat crush on alice. she asks everyone who it was at the ball, but no one knows. finally a friend tells her about the supposed resident ghost of the estate, who matches lydia’s description of alice. lydia remembers that alice told her that she sits by the stream on the estate’s grounds often, so lydia goes there, and finds alice there. she asks alice if she’s a ghost (like flat out “ey bruv are you a ghost”) and alice gets sad and confirms. lydia says she doesn’t care and alice gets excited and stands up and grabs her hand, then drops it because everyone’s home of phobic in the victorian times. lydia’s like “wait bro its fine i like u” and they look at each other and kiss. the end.
I JUST REALIZED THEIR INITIALS MATCH LUMITY I SWEAR THAT’S NOT ON PURPOSE HELP
This is most definitely not a slow burn because I just decided to delete the last half and make them kiss within approximately three minutes of meeting each other
ACTUAL DAILY
A ball was always meant to be a social event, in which young people could meet other young people and in which old people could discuss the doings of the young, but unfortunately, balls had become more of a formal event, at least where Lydia lived. You could hardly bring up in a conversation one non-ball-related topic before you were shushed, scolded, or sent outside for a minute.
For most, this wasn't a particularly problematic sort of problem, but for Lydia, this really was. As a naturally talkative person, she was always the center of attention, whether that be because of her rather… creative thoughts, or because of the negative attention that came with them.
She'd been invited to a ball this night - not an unusual occurrence; the season was in swing - but it was at a new location. This new (or rather, old, but new to her) manor was regarded by the young people as haunted, or at least spooky in looks, and when Lydia'd first laid eyes on its spindly wrought iron gates, the doubts of a real haunting in the neighborhood dropped right out of her mind and she'd wholeheartedly agreed with every accusation she'd heard of the manor. It was on the larger end of the home sizes of that part of the area, bordering on the definition of a mansion, and had the sort of architecture that one might expect to contain plenty of secret passageways and hidden staircases. The building itself was clearly aged but well kept. Thick green vines cascaded down its paneled walls, wrapping around columns and gutters and blending the manor into the beautifully tended grounds surrounding it, which consisted of flowering gardens directly around it and relatively clear wooded areas.
The day had been grey and damp, and as the attendees arrived and entered the grand wooden doors (real oak from the grounds, supposedly!) the rest of the dim light faded from the already-dark skies and rain began coming down in sheets. Lydia was glad that she'd made it inside before the heavens opened, and she was now quite content to stand near the entrance and wait for her friends to arrive as she listened to the water pound against and stream down the glass panes of the windows.
Lydia rushed across the threshold of the door as one of her good friends, Eleanor, arrived in a large pale green gown, sparkling all over as she walked past the lanterns posted outside.
“Eleanor!” Lydia called.
“Lydia-” Eleanor started, brushing droplets off her dress, “Oh, Lydia, I'm so glad you came after all! It's such a dreary night, and it'd be positively horrible if you weren't here!”
Lydia laughed and assisted her in drying the smooth green fabric off. “Of course I came! What, you think I'd miss a ball? Me?”
Eleanor giggled (Lydia absolutely WOULD miss a ball if allowed, for any reason, at all) and motioned towards the refreshment table. “Snack before the dancing starts?”
Once again, the night went by without much excitement (except a few remarks from Lydia that came out a little too loudly at just the time that the music got quiet, resulting in everyone awkwardly staring at her and her awkwardly staring at the polished wooden floor) until finally a comment on someone's hair was overheard by one of the overseers and she was sent outside (which was unfair, really, his wig WAS off-kilter and powdered oddly).
Lydia leaned against the wooden railing on the narrow wrap-around porch as rain poured down in sheets just a foot away from her. She was glad that the wind wasn't blowing; the rainwater would be sent flying into her if it was, and that wouldn't be very pleasant since she was already sort of cold.
She was just pondering how much the light breeze would have to pick up to get her wet when another girl her age stepped out from around the corner of the house. She was dressed in a sleek dark red dress embroidered with the outlines of large floral designs in a deeper red thread, which complimented her loose short brunette hair well. The style was a bit old-fashioned but not by many years.
“Oh, hello!” said Lydia, quickly standing up straight. “I didn't see you inside. Did you just arrive?”
“No, no,” the girl started, speaking quickly at first. “No, I've been here… a while. Why are you out here in the cold? You should be in there, enjoying the music with the others.”
“Well, I would be, but I've been banished to the freezing realm of Outside,” said Lydia, pronouncing Outside with a capital letter. “I said something that came out a bit loud at the same time that the music paused, and, well, I was sent outside to ”reflect on my conversation choices“, and I wasn't given a length of time to stay out here, so…”
The girl giggled behind her hand, leaving Lydia to wonder why she hid her pretty smile. “Well, maybe you should have learned the music choices for tonight by heart so you'd know when it would be quiet! Oh, I haven't introduced myself, I'm sorry - I'm Alice.”
“Alice, what a lovely name! My name is Lydia.”
Alice smiled again at the compliment and Lydia could feel herself blushing, although she didn't quite understand why she was getting flustered.
“Well, if no one's here to dance with you for this piece, could I have the honor?” Alice asked.
Lydia was pretty sure her mind stopped for a second. “Well- I'd love to- but won't we both know the same part? We'll step on each other's feet!”
Alice took Lydia's hand anyway and guided Lydia's hand to her waist. “I know both parts, so you don't have to worry about that. Just follow my lead.”
In a trance, Lydia followed Alice's movements, glad that she'd committed these dance steps to memory pretty well. The music swelled as the pair swirled around, a whirlpool of silky flowing fabric, and the world seemed to close in on itself. As far as Lydia was concerned, the two were the only two existing at the moment. Time had stopped, letting them close their eyes and sway slowly, then quickly, then twirl around each other as if the other was a black hole, pulling their bodies against each other, their souls straining to melt together. All that mattered to Lydia was Alice, and she hoped she was all that mattered to Alice.
As the music crescendoed, Alice pulled Lydia closer, letting their torsos touch lightly, and Lydia recognized that this was the last step of the dance, in which the two partners were supposed to kiss. Her heart skipped a beat as Alice shivered and her gaze flicked down. Then their lips pressed together and Lydia's eyelashes fluttered closed and everything was right in the world.
The music piece ended and they pulled apart, Lydia slightly breathless. The two stared at each other for a moment.
“How can I see you again?” Alice broke the silence, her voice soft.
“I- we can maybe meet down by the stream? At noon, tomorrow. To… talk.” Lydia's mind was running too quick and too slow at the same time and her mouth ended up spitting out a random sequence of words.
Alice nodded and stepped back. “Yes. Yes, I'll be there. I think you're meant to go now, though.”
Lydia was trying to process what that meant when the door opened and Eleanor's head popped out into the cool air.
“Lydia!” Eleanor called. “I'm supposed to come and bring you back inside.”
Lydia stepped towards her, then hesitated and looked to Alice - but Alice had disappeared, in a split second it seemed. “Yes, I'll come in,” she said.
Eleanor led Lydia inside as Lydia's mind ran over what had just happened. She didn't quite believe it was all entirely real - but she'd go to the stream at noon tomorrow, just in case, to hang out to the fleeting chance that it really was.
make a new genre
genre: historical paranormal queer romance (!)
heres my original plan, i cut it short because it ended up being wayy too long
lydia’s confident but sorta unstable. she goes to the ball at a “haunted” estate. she’s sent out of the ballroom after she’s too loud or annoying and she meets another young girl named alice, who feels bad for her and asks her for a dance (as a joke). they dance together in the cold night air to the music that drifts through the walls. after the ball’s over and lydia goes home, she realizes that she has a big ol fat crush on alice. she asks everyone who it was at the ball, but no one knows. finally a friend tells her about the supposed resident ghost of the estate, who matches lydia’s description of alice. lydia remembers that alice told her that she sits by the stream on the estate’s grounds often, so lydia goes there, and finds alice there. she asks alice if she’s a ghost (like flat out “ey bruv are you a ghost”) and alice gets sad and confirms. lydia says she doesn’t care and alice gets excited and stands up and grabs her hand, then drops it because everyone’s home of phobic in the victorian times. lydia’s like “wait bro its fine i like u” and they look at each other and kiss. the end.
I JUST REALIZED THEIR INITIALS MATCH LUMITY I SWEAR THAT’S NOT ON PURPOSE HELP
This is most definitely not a slow burn because I just decided to delete the last half and make them kiss within approximately three minutes of meeting each other
ACTUAL DAILY
A ball was always meant to be a social event, in which young people could meet other young people and in which old people could discuss the doings of the young, but unfortunately, balls had become more of a formal event, at least where Lydia lived. You could hardly bring up in a conversation one non-ball-related topic before you were shushed, scolded, or sent outside for a minute.
For most, this wasn't a particularly problematic sort of problem, but for Lydia, this really was. As a naturally talkative person, she was always the center of attention, whether that be because of her rather… creative thoughts, or because of the negative attention that came with them.
She'd been invited to a ball this night - not an unusual occurrence; the season was in swing - but it was at a new location. This new (or rather, old, but new to her) manor was regarded by the young people as haunted, or at least spooky in looks, and when Lydia'd first laid eyes on its spindly wrought iron gates, the doubts of a real haunting in the neighborhood dropped right out of her mind and she'd wholeheartedly agreed with every accusation she'd heard of the manor. It was on the larger end of the home sizes of that part of the area, bordering on the definition of a mansion, and had the sort of architecture that one might expect to contain plenty of secret passageways and hidden staircases. The building itself was clearly aged but well kept. Thick green vines cascaded down its paneled walls, wrapping around columns and gutters and blending the manor into the beautifully tended grounds surrounding it, which consisted of flowering gardens directly around it and relatively clear wooded areas.
The day had been grey and damp, and as the attendees arrived and entered the grand wooden doors (real oak from the grounds, supposedly!) the rest of the dim light faded from the already-dark skies and rain began coming down in sheets. Lydia was glad that she'd made it inside before the heavens opened, and she was now quite content to stand near the entrance and wait for her friends to arrive as she listened to the water pound against and stream down the glass panes of the windows.
Lydia rushed across the threshold of the door as one of her good friends, Eleanor, arrived in a large pale green gown, sparkling all over as she walked past the lanterns posted outside.
“Eleanor!” Lydia called.
“Lydia-” Eleanor started, brushing droplets off her dress, “Oh, Lydia, I'm so glad you came after all! It's such a dreary night, and it'd be positively horrible if you weren't here!”
Lydia laughed and assisted her in drying the smooth green fabric off. “Of course I came! What, you think I'd miss a ball? Me?”
Eleanor giggled (Lydia absolutely WOULD miss a ball if allowed, for any reason, at all) and motioned towards the refreshment table. “Snack before the dancing starts?”
Once again, the night went by without much excitement (except a few remarks from Lydia that came out a little too loudly at just the time that the music got quiet, resulting in everyone awkwardly staring at her and her awkwardly staring at the polished wooden floor) until finally a comment on someone's hair was overheard by one of the overseers and she was sent outside (which was unfair, really, his wig WAS off-kilter and powdered oddly).
Lydia leaned against the wooden railing on the narrow wrap-around porch as rain poured down in sheets just a foot away from her. She was glad that the wind wasn't blowing; the rainwater would be sent flying into her if it was, and that wouldn't be very pleasant since she was already sort of cold.
She was just pondering how much the light breeze would have to pick up to get her wet when another girl her age stepped out from around the corner of the house. She was dressed in a sleek dark red dress embroidered with the outlines of large floral designs in a deeper red thread, which complimented her loose short brunette hair well. The style was a bit old-fashioned but not by many years.
“Oh, hello!” said Lydia, quickly standing up straight. “I didn't see you inside. Did you just arrive?”
“No, no,” the girl started, speaking quickly at first. “No, I've been here… a while. Why are you out here in the cold? You should be in there, enjoying the music with the others.”
“Well, I would be, but I've been banished to the freezing realm of Outside,” said Lydia, pronouncing Outside with a capital letter. “I said something that came out a bit loud at the same time that the music paused, and, well, I was sent outside to ”reflect on my conversation choices“, and I wasn't given a length of time to stay out here, so…”
The girl giggled behind her hand, leaving Lydia to wonder why she hid her pretty smile. “Well, maybe you should have learned the music choices for tonight by heart so you'd know when it would be quiet! Oh, I haven't introduced myself, I'm sorry - I'm Alice.”
“Alice, what a lovely name! My name is Lydia.”
Alice smiled again at the compliment and Lydia could feel herself blushing, although she didn't quite understand why she was getting flustered.
“Well, if no one's here to dance with you for this piece, could I have the honor?” Alice asked.
Lydia was pretty sure her mind stopped for a second. “Well- I'd love to- but won't we both know the same part? We'll step on each other's feet!”
Alice took Lydia's hand anyway and guided Lydia's hand to her waist. “I know both parts, so you don't have to worry about that. Just follow my lead.”
In a trance, Lydia followed Alice's movements, glad that she'd committed these dance steps to memory pretty well. The music swelled as the pair swirled around, a whirlpool of silky flowing fabric, and the world seemed to close in on itself. As far as Lydia was concerned, the two were the only two existing at the moment. Time had stopped, letting them close their eyes and sway slowly, then quickly, then twirl around each other as if the other was a black hole, pulling their bodies against each other, their souls straining to melt together. All that mattered to Lydia was Alice, and she hoped she was all that mattered to Alice.
As the music crescendoed, Alice pulled Lydia closer, letting their torsos touch lightly, and Lydia recognized that this was the last step of the dance, in which the two partners were supposed to kiss. Her heart skipped a beat as Alice shivered and her gaze flicked down. Then their lips pressed together and Lydia's eyelashes fluttered closed and everything was right in the world.
The music piece ended and they pulled apart, Lydia slightly breathless. The two stared at each other for a moment.
“How can I see you again?” Alice broke the silence, her voice soft.
“I- we can maybe meet down by the stream? At noon, tomorrow. To… talk.” Lydia's mind was running too quick and too slow at the same time and her mouth ended up spitting out a random sequence of words.
Alice nodded and stepped back. “Yes. Yes, I'll be there. I think you're meant to go now, though.”
Lydia was trying to process what that meant when the door opened and Eleanor's head popped out into the cool air.
“Lydia!” Eleanor called. “I'm supposed to come and bring you back inside.”
Lydia stepped towards her, then hesitated and looked to Alice - but Alice had disappeared, in a split second it seemed. “Yes, I'll come in,” she said.
Eleanor led Lydia inside as Lydia's mind ran over what had just happened. She didn't quite believe it was all entirely real - but she'd go to the stream at noon tomorrow, just in case, to hang out to the fleeting chance that it really was.
rainy-rayne
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daily 8 - 230/200 words
note for feminine figure (women’s day)
figure: anne frank
Anne Frank - a young visionary, from a past age.
A visionary taken from this world far, far too soon, by humans, people who obliterated others for their religion.
Not directly, no, but due to their plans and neglect, left to die of a sickness just weeks before she would have been emancipated.
And yet she still felt there was good in them.
Perhaps we could use that sort of emotion now, in times where tempers run so high and empathy runs so low?
She believed that, under all the layers of hostility, in spite of everything a person might show on the outside, people really were good at heart.
That view can be attributed to her faith, to her personality itself, or to the people she lived with in a tiny annex for two full years, but it might also be attributed to an aspect that all humans share - fellowship. It's no novel discovery that humans are pack animals, that our brains are quite literally built for being social and communication, but what may not be obvious at first glance is that means we also have a good deal of trust lying around in our hearts. Trust in things, objects, yes, but primarily in other humans.
Trust - what we need in this day and age.
And if we haven't realized that yet, maybe Anne Frank's words will help us to.
note for feminine figure (women’s day)
figure: anne frank
Anne Frank - a young visionary, from a past age.
A visionary taken from this world far, far too soon, by humans, people who obliterated others for their religion.
Not directly, no, but due to their plans and neglect, left to die of a sickness just weeks before she would have been emancipated.
And yet she still felt there was good in them.
Perhaps we could use that sort of emotion now, in times where tempers run so high and empathy runs so low?
She believed that, under all the layers of hostility, in spite of everything a person might show on the outside, people really were good at heart.
That view can be attributed to her faith, to her personality itself, or to the people she lived with in a tiny annex for two full years, but it might also be attributed to an aspect that all humans share - fellowship. It's no novel discovery that humans are pack animals, that our brains are quite literally built for being social and communication, but what may not be obvious at first glance is that means we also have a good deal of trust lying around in our hearts. Trust in things, objects, yes, but primarily in other humans.
Trust - what we need in this day and age.
And if we haven't realized that yet, maybe Anne Frank's words will help us to.
rainy-rayne
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WEEKLY ONE (2516/1200)
weekly?? help
my goal for this weekly is to not write more than 100 words over 200 for each section because normally I end up writing way too much and I don't have time
dang it I've failed already
P1 - RETELLING (253/200)
Medusa never wanted to be turned into a monster. Her once-luscious hair had long ago been replaced with writhing masses of scaled serpents, constantly hissing and whispering nothings about her ears, but she still didn't want to accept it. The punishment wasn't fair, either, she'd never wanted… that… well, it'd happened either way, whether it was something she'd wanted or not, and the wills and wraths of the gods and goddesses weren't supposed to be in tune with the wants of mortals in the first place.
Her goddess hadn't wanted to curse either, Medusa didn't think, but defiling the temple was a serious offence whether Medusa'd wanted it to happen anyway, and cursing the one doing the defiling was a requirement, so…
That was how she'd ended up with the snakes and the stone gaze. The second was probably the worse of the two curses, but Medusa's goddess claimed it was to prevent it happening to her ever again, since men (women, too) would be solid stone the second they made eye contact. She couldn't argue with that (well, she'd wanted to, but she couldn't, you see?).
And really, it wasn't so bad in the end - recently, she'd seen a young blind girl while she was out looking for flowers to adorn her otherwise rather depressing “lair”. The blind wouldn't turn into stone on sight - they couldn't see her eyes.
Also, Medusa'd never liked men. Maybe this could be the start of something new, something… of love.
P2 - IF WALLS COULD TALK (458/200)
The room's small, painted in a drab greyish brown paint, with a middling sized window and a stark white door opposite each other. It's sat empty for a while, waiting for an inhabitant.
One cloudy afternoon, a piece of furniture appears in the center of the room. It's a cradle. Not of the fancy sort by any means, it can't even rock, but the important bit is that in a bundle of blankets in the middle of the cradle lays a baby boy. He doesn't cry much. He's content to stare at the lightly textured ceiling, or if he's feeling adventurous, turn his head to watch out the window.
Time passes and now he's a little boy, running around on seemingly endless energy. His skinny body now sleeps on a bed without rails, not much more than a cot with a thin mattress. He doesn't seem to mind, though. He retreats to the bed when people yell outside the door.
More time goes by and he's in middle school now. He's still skinny, now a gangly boy with a mop of light brown hair framing his face. He still comes to this room when there's yelling out.
The boy grows into a teenager, lanky and tall. His hair's now cut into a bowl cut, parted in the middle, but it doesn't look all that bad on him. He invites another boy over a lot, more often than his other friends. The first time that the yelling starts while the other's over, he digs his fingers into the bed cover, his knuckles white.
As he grows more, his parents now yell at him in the room. It's no longer a safe sanctuary for him. He's not allowed to invite that boy over, they say. He's supposed to find a girlfriend. Why can't he be normal?
He moves out, eventually, on his way to a big college. Not a very well-thought of one, no, he'd never been able to study well and his grades slipped as tight as he clung to them, but it was out, at last.
As his small collection of bags sit outside the window, he sits in the long grass and stares at the sky, much as he did as a baby. His parents aren't home. He doesn't know where they are. He doesn't care, though, because now it's quiet and now he can-
The other boy comes into view through the window. He holds out his hand and helps the college-bound one up. Their hands don't let go, and after a moment, they kiss, gently, like it's something they've always done and always will.
That's the last time the boy is seen there, but it's not bad. He's moved on from that place.
P3 - FAIRY TALE MOTIFS (405/200)
The village was quiet, it'd always been, it was small and not busy at all. The fountain in the middle of the town square hadn't run for years and the only restaurant was lucky to get more than a few customers at any given mealtime.
It was, however, home to a certain Elisa Swanson, the most beautiful lady in the area. She was gentle but confident, polite but a pleasure to be around (she was quite funny when you got to know her). She had, however, been selected by the village witch at birth to go to the mythical fairy castle in the woods to make a deal that would ensure the future of the village (the land it sat on was under contract to the fairies, who were set to demolish the homes and shops in order to extend their forest).
When it came time to make the journey on her seventeenth birthday, she was given words of encouragement by the townfolk and a very special gift from the village witch - a delicate silver crown, which would allow her to hear the thoughts of the person physically closest to her at the moment she donned it.
The trek to the fabled location of the fairy castle wasn't hard at all, and surprisingly it was quite easy to find, but when she'd made to knock on the tall wooden door, the whole castle had shrunk into the size of an wood-burning oven.
The fairies came out immediately, swarming her and threatening awful things of her, but when she asked to see their queen, they'd backed off and sent word for the queen to meet the visitor. Elisa's first impression of the fairy queen was that she was rather arrogant, which proved to be true when the queen flat-out denied Elisa's request.
The fairies attacked Elisa the moment the refusal was administered, and in a panic, Elisa threw the silver crown at them. It hit them all at once, and they stood still at the same time, then trembled in sync, and then burst into flames at once. The crown had made them each hear all of the others' thoughts at once!
Elisa left the castle and returned to the village once the queen had burned up too, figuring that they weren't under contract to dead fairies. She was greeted with cheers, and legend says that the village is still living happily ever after.
P4 - REGIONAL DIFFERENCES (364/200)
Once in a blue moon, there was said to be a gathering of creatures atop a small hillock in the middle of the woods. They were fabled to be some sort of wolf-things, but larger and hairier with more fury in their eyes. They were meant to pick one of the children in the village to eat. Once their conference had decided, they entered that child's house at night and ate them up, leaving no trace. However, their leader wore a gleaming tiara atop his head that, if removed from his body, would send the wolf-things out of existence permanently. One year, they picked a scrawny but clever young boy, hardly over ten. When they snuck into his room, he was waiting for them, having heard them approach from afar. He was sitting above the door top on a large chest of drawers. When the leader burst into his room ahead of the rest of the creatures, the boy jumped down on top of him and plucked the tiara off his ears. The wolf-things growled in one horrible voice, but in a moment, they turned into dust and blew away.
On years of good harvest, a group of hideous eagle-like creatures met in the crop fields to choose a young child to eat in return for the gift of food. The chief eagle wore a cape of solid gold beads that would kill the entire group of eagle-things if taken away from him. The child chosen was meant to wait at midnight in the town square to be eaten as a sacrifice for the good of the village. It'd always worked in the past, but one year, the little girl they'd selected for her plump rosy cheeks waited in the branches of a thick-leaved tree, hidden from sight. As the chief eagle passed under the tree she waited in, she jumped down onto him and pulled the cape right off his back. With the cape in the girl's hand, the eagle-like things had no choice but to turn into flower bushes to adorn the place they were defeated. The girl lived a long and rich life because of the solid gold in the cape.
P4 - MORAL (445/200)
There once lived a wealthy and arrogant man who had many fields with good soil and kept many flocks of many types of animals. His wealth came from his assets alone, rather than being due to friendly people offering him help or gifts, and he was proud of this and felt he was better than others because he'd made his fortune solely by himself.
A young man came to him once, asking for advice for keeping animals and tending crops, saying that he wanted to do it all himself just like the wealthy and arrogant man did.
“No,” said the arrogant man, wanting to keep his “title” of being self-made to himself, “it is best to get help from others. I did it myself, but it is much easier to become wealthy with gifts and help. Here, I will give you enough money to buy yourself an entire house if you come to me in a year's time with three times the money you have now and tell me who helped you or gave you gifts.
The young man thanked him for the generosity and left, promising he would come back in a year. The arrogant man congratulated himself for his quick thinking to stay The Only One to Do It by Himself.
The year passed quickly and, as promised, the young man came back to the arrogant man and told him of the help he'd gotten from others. He said that he'd made many friends along the way and now the village he lived in had a strong and thriving community. The arrogant man, who was falling on hard times and didn't want to give away his own money, congratulated the young man but said nothing of the money he'd promised.
Finally, after a few minutes of relative silence and awkward small talk, the young man brought up the sum he'd been promised. The arrogant man said, ”No, that was only to get you to grow wealthy. See where it's got you?"
The young man became angry and left without a word. The arrogant man thought he'd heard the last of the young man until a few days later, when the last servant he could afford to keep on came to him with a message saying that his land had been purchased because he was in debt.
The arrogant man was furious; he hadn't known of this debt and now he had no home. He asked to hear the name of the man who'd purchased his land. The servant told him it was the same man that had come to him over a year ago, that he had just refused his promised gift to.
P4 - ORAL RETELLING (533/200)
Steam hissed out of the numerous pipes surrounding him as he looked towards the girl with a questioning look. She paused and glanced at her watch, which didn't show time but seemed to be a collection of timers, all ticking down at different places with a loud cacophonous noise.
“Look, man…” she said, hesitantly. "I can tell you the story of this place, but you'll have to come with me while I work. I don't have time, you see, to stop and sit down and have storytime.“
He nodded quickly. ”Sure. Sure, I'll go with you. But seriously, what is this?“
She sighed and jumped up to a ledge above them, pulling herself up with surprising upper-arm strength and motioning to him to stay put while she's there. ”It started as a factory. I'm not sure what was manufactured. Sometimes you'll come across the remnants of some sort of machine or a conveyor belt while you're working.“ She pulled a strange tool out of the tool belt on her waist and began to do something to a large complicated-looking machine with it. ”It's changed now, obviously. The factory imploded, they say.“
”Imploded?“ He asked, feeling awkward just standing as she worked. He leaned against a large pipe.
She nods, jumping down from the ledge again as a timer on her watch-thing went off and pulling him along to another machine. ”Yeah, imploded. Some malfunction in a machine, just at the time that some unpure material went through, and suddenly the place was a huge smoking radioactive heap of twisted metal.“ The timer went off again and she flinched, waiting for something, then continuing to work on the machine. She was quiet until he cleared his throat.
”And this is radioactive, then?“
”I'm getting to that,“ she hissed out, a bead of sweat rolling down her face as she finished and raced to another machine. ”No, that's what all this stuff is for,“ she said, gesturing vaguely around them. ”To keep it from being radioactive. No machines, slow and terrible deaths for everyone working here, and everyone in a…“ she worked something out on her fingers. ”twenty mile radius of this place.“
He let out a low whistle. ”Twenty miles? That's like, two and a half cities.“
She nodded. ”Exactly why I'm doing-“ the timer went off again and an alarm started on the watch. ”This.“
A second alarm began on the watch thing and she tossed him a tool similar to her own. ”Here, take this, quickly, and come watch what I'm doing. As time goes on it gets harder and harder to keep this thing under control. We need all the help we can get.“
”What, I'm supposed to drop everything and work here the rest of my life?“
She didn't say anything for a moment. ”I've been here three years with four-hour breaks once a day,“ she said finally. ”I'll be here the rest of my life, probably. But if it's what keeps everyone else from dying horrible deaths? Yeah, I'm working my- my head off.“
He looked at her for a minute, watching her work, thinking, and then spoke, slowly. ”How do I do it?"
weekly?? help
my goal for this weekly is to not write more than 100 words over 200 for each section because normally I end up writing way too much and I don't have time
dang it I've failed already
P1 - RETELLING (253/200)
Medusa never wanted to be turned into a monster. Her once-luscious hair had long ago been replaced with writhing masses of scaled serpents, constantly hissing and whispering nothings about her ears, but she still didn't want to accept it. The punishment wasn't fair, either, she'd never wanted… that… well, it'd happened either way, whether it was something she'd wanted or not, and the wills and wraths of the gods and goddesses weren't supposed to be in tune with the wants of mortals in the first place.
Her goddess hadn't wanted to curse either, Medusa didn't think, but defiling the temple was a serious offence whether Medusa'd wanted it to happen anyway, and cursing the one doing the defiling was a requirement, so…
That was how she'd ended up with the snakes and the stone gaze. The second was probably the worse of the two curses, but Medusa's goddess claimed it was to prevent it happening to her ever again, since men (women, too) would be solid stone the second they made eye contact. She couldn't argue with that (well, she'd wanted to, but she couldn't, you see?).
And really, it wasn't so bad in the end - recently, she'd seen a young blind girl while she was out looking for flowers to adorn her otherwise rather depressing “lair”. The blind wouldn't turn into stone on sight - they couldn't see her eyes.
Also, Medusa'd never liked men. Maybe this could be the start of something new, something… of love.
P2 - IF WALLS COULD TALK (458/200)
The room's small, painted in a drab greyish brown paint, with a middling sized window and a stark white door opposite each other. It's sat empty for a while, waiting for an inhabitant.
One cloudy afternoon, a piece of furniture appears in the center of the room. It's a cradle. Not of the fancy sort by any means, it can't even rock, but the important bit is that in a bundle of blankets in the middle of the cradle lays a baby boy. He doesn't cry much. He's content to stare at the lightly textured ceiling, or if he's feeling adventurous, turn his head to watch out the window.
Time passes and now he's a little boy, running around on seemingly endless energy. His skinny body now sleeps on a bed without rails, not much more than a cot with a thin mattress. He doesn't seem to mind, though. He retreats to the bed when people yell outside the door.
More time goes by and he's in middle school now. He's still skinny, now a gangly boy with a mop of light brown hair framing his face. He still comes to this room when there's yelling out.
The boy grows into a teenager, lanky and tall. His hair's now cut into a bowl cut, parted in the middle, but it doesn't look all that bad on him. He invites another boy over a lot, more often than his other friends. The first time that the yelling starts while the other's over, he digs his fingers into the bed cover, his knuckles white.
As he grows more, his parents now yell at him in the room. It's no longer a safe sanctuary for him. He's not allowed to invite that boy over, they say. He's supposed to find a girlfriend. Why can't he be normal?
He moves out, eventually, on his way to a big college. Not a very well-thought of one, no, he'd never been able to study well and his grades slipped as tight as he clung to them, but it was out, at last.
As his small collection of bags sit outside the window, he sits in the long grass and stares at the sky, much as he did as a baby. His parents aren't home. He doesn't know where they are. He doesn't care, though, because now it's quiet and now he can-
The other boy comes into view through the window. He holds out his hand and helps the college-bound one up. Their hands don't let go, and after a moment, they kiss, gently, like it's something they've always done and always will.
That's the last time the boy is seen there, but it's not bad. He's moved on from that place.
P3 - FAIRY TALE MOTIFS (405/200)
The village was quiet, it'd always been, it was small and not busy at all. The fountain in the middle of the town square hadn't run for years and the only restaurant was lucky to get more than a few customers at any given mealtime.
It was, however, home to a certain Elisa Swanson, the most beautiful lady in the area. She was gentle but confident, polite but a pleasure to be around (she was quite funny when you got to know her). She had, however, been selected by the village witch at birth to go to the mythical fairy castle in the woods to make a deal that would ensure the future of the village (the land it sat on was under contract to the fairies, who were set to demolish the homes and shops in order to extend their forest).
When it came time to make the journey on her seventeenth birthday, she was given words of encouragement by the townfolk and a very special gift from the village witch - a delicate silver crown, which would allow her to hear the thoughts of the person physically closest to her at the moment she donned it.
The trek to the fabled location of the fairy castle wasn't hard at all, and surprisingly it was quite easy to find, but when she'd made to knock on the tall wooden door, the whole castle had shrunk into the size of an wood-burning oven.
The fairies came out immediately, swarming her and threatening awful things of her, but when she asked to see their queen, they'd backed off and sent word for the queen to meet the visitor. Elisa's first impression of the fairy queen was that she was rather arrogant, which proved to be true when the queen flat-out denied Elisa's request.
The fairies attacked Elisa the moment the refusal was administered, and in a panic, Elisa threw the silver crown at them. It hit them all at once, and they stood still at the same time, then trembled in sync, and then burst into flames at once. The crown had made them each hear all of the others' thoughts at once!
Elisa left the castle and returned to the village once the queen had burned up too, figuring that they weren't under contract to dead fairies. She was greeted with cheers, and legend says that the village is still living happily ever after.
P4 - REGIONAL DIFFERENCES (364/200)
Once in a blue moon, there was said to be a gathering of creatures atop a small hillock in the middle of the woods. They were fabled to be some sort of wolf-things, but larger and hairier with more fury in their eyes. They were meant to pick one of the children in the village to eat. Once their conference had decided, they entered that child's house at night and ate them up, leaving no trace. However, their leader wore a gleaming tiara atop his head that, if removed from his body, would send the wolf-things out of existence permanently. One year, they picked a scrawny but clever young boy, hardly over ten. When they snuck into his room, he was waiting for them, having heard them approach from afar. He was sitting above the door top on a large chest of drawers. When the leader burst into his room ahead of the rest of the creatures, the boy jumped down on top of him and plucked the tiara off his ears. The wolf-things growled in one horrible voice, but in a moment, they turned into dust and blew away.
On years of good harvest, a group of hideous eagle-like creatures met in the crop fields to choose a young child to eat in return for the gift of food. The chief eagle wore a cape of solid gold beads that would kill the entire group of eagle-things if taken away from him. The child chosen was meant to wait at midnight in the town square to be eaten as a sacrifice for the good of the village. It'd always worked in the past, but one year, the little girl they'd selected for her plump rosy cheeks waited in the branches of a thick-leaved tree, hidden from sight. As the chief eagle passed under the tree she waited in, she jumped down onto him and pulled the cape right off his back. With the cape in the girl's hand, the eagle-like things had no choice but to turn into flower bushes to adorn the place they were defeated. The girl lived a long and rich life because of the solid gold in the cape.
P4 - MORAL (445/200)
There once lived a wealthy and arrogant man who had many fields with good soil and kept many flocks of many types of animals. His wealth came from his assets alone, rather than being due to friendly people offering him help or gifts, and he was proud of this and felt he was better than others because he'd made his fortune solely by himself.
A young man came to him once, asking for advice for keeping animals and tending crops, saying that he wanted to do it all himself just like the wealthy and arrogant man did.
“No,” said the arrogant man, wanting to keep his “title” of being self-made to himself, “it is best to get help from others. I did it myself, but it is much easier to become wealthy with gifts and help. Here, I will give you enough money to buy yourself an entire house if you come to me in a year's time with three times the money you have now and tell me who helped you or gave you gifts.
The young man thanked him for the generosity and left, promising he would come back in a year. The arrogant man congratulated himself for his quick thinking to stay The Only One to Do It by Himself.
The year passed quickly and, as promised, the young man came back to the arrogant man and told him of the help he'd gotten from others. He said that he'd made many friends along the way and now the village he lived in had a strong and thriving community. The arrogant man, who was falling on hard times and didn't want to give away his own money, congratulated the young man but said nothing of the money he'd promised.
Finally, after a few minutes of relative silence and awkward small talk, the young man brought up the sum he'd been promised. The arrogant man said, ”No, that was only to get you to grow wealthy. See where it's got you?"
The young man became angry and left without a word. The arrogant man thought he'd heard the last of the young man until a few days later, when the last servant he could afford to keep on came to him with a message saying that his land had been purchased because he was in debt.
The arrogant man was furious; he hadn't known of this debt and now he had no home. He asked to hear the name of the man who'd purchased his land. The servant told him it was the same man that had come to him over a year ago, that he had just refused his promised gift to.
P4 - ORAL RETELLING (533/200)
Steam hissed out of the numerous pipes surrounding him as he looked towards the girl with a questioning look. She paused and glanced at her watch, which didn't show time but seemed to be a collection of timers, all ticking down at different places with a loud cacophonous noise.
“Look, man…” she said, hesitantly. "I can tell you the story of this place, but you'll have to come with me while I work. I don't have time, you see, to stop and sit down and have storytime.“
He nodded quickly. ”Sure. Sure, I'll go with you. But seriously, what is this?“
She sighed and jumped up to a ledge above them, pulling herself up with surprising upper-arm strength and motioning to him to stay put while she's there. ”It started as a factory. I'm not sure what was manufactured. Sometimes you'll come across the remnants of some sort of machine or a conveyor belt while you're working.“ She pulled a strange tool out of the tool belt on her waist and began to do something to a large complicated-looking machine with it. ”It's changed now, obviously. The factory imploded, they say.“
”Imploded?“ He asked, feeling awkward just standing as she worked. He leaned against a large pipe.
She nods, jumping down from the ledge again as a timer on her watch-thing went off and pulling him along to another machine. ”Yeah, imploded. Some malfunction in a machine, just at the time that some unpure material went through, and suddenly the place was a huge smoking radioactive heap of twisted metal.“ The timer went off again and she flinched, waiting for something, then continuing to work on the machine. She was quiet until he cleared his throat.
”And this is radioactive, then?“
”I'm getting to that,“ she hissed out, a bead of sweat rolling down her face as she finished and raced to another machine. ”No, that's what all this stuff is for,“ she said, gesturing vaguely around them. ”To keep it from being radioactive. No machines, slow and terrible deaths for everyone working here, and everyone in a…“ she worked something out on her fingers. ”twenty mile radius of this place.“
He let out a low whistle. ”Twenty miles? That's like, two and a half cities.“
She nodded. ”Exactly why I'm doing-“ the timer went off again and an alarm started on the watch. ”This.“
A second alarm began on the watch thing and she tossed him a tool similar to her own. ”Here, take this, quickly, and come watch what I'm doing. As time goes on it gets harder and harder to keep this thing under control. We need all the help we can get.“
”What, I'm supposed to drop everything and work here the rest of my life?“
She didn't say anything for a moment. ”I've been here three years with four-hour breaks once a day,“ she said finally. ”I'll be here the rest of my life, probably. But if it's what keeps everyone else from dying horrible deaths? Yeah, I'm working my- my head off.“
He looked at her for a minute, watching her work, thinking, and then spoke, slowly. ”How do I do it?"
rainy-rayne
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daily 9 - 4000/— words
cabin wars!!
It was a relatively normal day that they came. The sun was high in the sky, shining down and warming our skin as clouds flitted across the blue shades above. No one expected it - not even the farmers, who hadn't heard the whispering among Them. They hid it well, stopping Their conversations when a non-Them came into earshot.
Once it started, though, it was over fast and relatively painlessly. Probably because of the surprise factor, really. It came as a huge shock to basically every person on the planet. One moment going about their everyday lives, the next overrun with the new bird overlords. Their strategy was well though out, fast, and efficient - infiltrate the government offices, shut down the systems, wreak havoc, and then watch as the world erupted into chaos for a few moments - then, as society began to descend into madness, They offered a helping hand (ahem, wing) to us.
So now our species - well, our entire planet, really - is ruled by chickens. And, for the most part, no one is happy about it. Sure, some of us have decided to accept their fates, but the rest of us are cooperating with spiteful looks on our face. That's going to be humanity's new motto, I suppose - contentious compliance.
There's talk of rebellion, muttered undertones in a sea of conformity, whispered between us as we queue in endless lines for what the chickens have deemed to be “necessary services” for us - daily wi-fi limits (codes for Internet access that refresh at midnight), work assignments (rotating jobs now, they've decided that we won't be as powerful if we don't specialize), and our food allotments (usually some type of grain, like whole wheat bread, with a plant-based protein. No dairy, eggs, or meat, they predictably have problems with that. The vegans should be rejoicing, but they're more concerned with the fact that the chickens don't know our nutrition requirements and aren't giving us proper amounts of things).
As for me? I'm wholeheartedly for rebellion, but I keep a neutral face when I'm out and about. I say it's best to take control back in the same way they took it from us - with no warning. I meet with others, sometimes, and we speak in hushed tones about plots and plans and ways we might be able to come back from this.
Others say that peace is a better option. They say that it's not so bad, that maybe in time the system will balance and we'll come back into some sort of power. Maybe we'll be able to hold elections again, they say, although I'm not sure what that has to do with anything. Something like freedom, I guess? But it's a stretch.
A select few advocate for chicken control. They say it's better than where the world was going, anyway, and we might as well welcome our new chicken overlords. I suspect they may be getting favors from the chickens, though.
So, you've heard all sides. What will it be?
Ah, 502 words for a overlord chicken prompt! How delightful. Now, though, I think my creativity is stretched a bit thin (like butter scraped over too much toast!! /ref), so I'm going to try doing something informational or argumentative. That's where my strength in writing usually lies, anyway, and I'm pretty fast at that (though not as fast as creative or narrative writing because I have to be getting the facts right) so I guess I'll take an argumentative essay prompt list and just write short quick thoughts on each issue (well, each issue that pertains to me or that I have an opinion on. I'm not going to write about whether or not I think salmon should be dyed, or if it should at least be labeled, because I have no information on that topic and doing research would take a while.
Does (f,b) need a “dislike” button? In this day and age, Facebook is a tool that is rapidly becoming obsolete, with new social medias like Instagram, (s,c), and (t,t) taking its place. However, it still has an active user base, consisting mostly of middle-aged women. You'd probably easily find your aunts and mom on the user list. (f,b) notably has a “like” button built right into the platform, with which users can show their support of a post. Some argue that they should also add a “dislike” button, but that could lead to fights starting as people dislike media they don't agree with. For example, if someone disliked a post about cats, that could lead to an argument in the comments section of the post about the age old debate, cats versus dogs. This new feature would lead to debate, which in some cases is helpful to understand other people's ideas, but in this case would most likely result in hateful comments and ruined friendships. So, no, (f,b) does not need a “dislike” button - simply not liking a post is a much more effective and peaceful way to not show your agreement with something.
Are television shows and movies “too white”? Video media these days are becoming more and more diverse, but this has led to some people arguing that there is “too much diversity”. They say that it's not realistic to have so many characters who are people of color, LGBTQ+, of various religions, and who speak different languages. However, it is entirely realistic to have a very diverse cast in video productions - the problem with these people is that their own real-life environments are not diverse at all. Many of these complaints come from people who grew up in conservative all-white communities, where they were rarely exposed to people “different” from them. The problem here is not with the television industry, rather, it's with the people complaining - they simple need to reframe their perception of the world, in the small and simple way of accepting that there are tons of different kinds of people in the world, and that's how it reality is.
Do we still need libraries? This is a question that, although not often, consistently pops up in debates around both the topics of public spaces and digitizing content and media. The answer to this is a resounding YES. While libraries were definitely more of a necessity in the past, when the internet wasn't much more that the Pong game and to research any topic or read any book you had to go to that in-person building stacked to the top with both fictional and non-fictional books alike, libraries are still a frequently used service nowadays. More and more books, articles, and printed materials are being scanned onto the internet or published there in the first place, but there is no comparison to a real library. While its selection is much, much smaller, you can easily walk into a library and walk out with books you've never heard of. Yes, you can find random books on the internet, too, but you'd still probably research each random book you find and not pick it because of that. In a library, though, it's possible to go straight to a random shelf in a random section, pick a book with an interesting or colorful spine, and read it on the spot with no hesitation. However, libraries are much more than a place to just store books - they're also home to community activities, services for those in need, the site of fundraisers for charities, cities, and community projects, and a place that anyone can go if they need a place to spend time. For example, children often go to libraries to wait out time until their parents can pick them up after school, and people who have a bad home life can escape at libraries for a few hours. Libraries are safe, quiet places to make friends, build relationships, and seek help.
Ok I didn't really have any idea what to write (I got tired of the argumentative writing thingy) so I texted a guy asking for prompts and he asked chatgpt and I got a few good ones I think! Well, maybe not like, good good, but they seem kind of fun to write so I guess here we go!
prompt 1 - the first day of spring from a flower's perspective
Sometimes the sun beats down on the earth, drying the dirt into cracked shapes. Sometimes the wind blows hard, sending leaves of warm colors into the air. Sometimes the sky opens up, letting down torrents of rain, sleet, snow, and everything in between.
That's when the flowers sleep, their petals closing into their buds and retreating back into their stems.
The spring marks their return, which is why it is widely regarded as the most beautiful season - blooms of various colors adorn hills, fields, and valleys, swatches of bright paint against the slowly rippling grass.
The first day of spring is when many flowers open their buds back up, slowly letting their petals out into the sun and warming themselves. After a long, cold winter, they're glad to feel the kiss of light again, a shock against the cool air still lightly blowing against their leaves.
Such is the life of a flower - although not long, they still brighten up landscapes.
prompt 2 - a world where dreams blend into reality
Dreams are often the subject of debate in this world, discussed and contemplated since the beginning of communication. It's natural they would be, of course, they're like a second reality that we can only access once our bodies are still, and they're incorporated into many religions, but in the end, they're really not that big of a deal.
In other worlds, though?
Quite the opposite.
Take the one you're standing in now, for example - in this one, the dreams an individual sees at night influences their reality in the morning. For most, it's not big parts of their life. If they dreamed about a huge adventure with friends, they might end up taking part in a previously unplanned scavenger hunt at school. I see you look surprised. It's not strange here, it's how it's always been.
What's that? You'd like to try living in this one for a bit?
Alright, you can do that. I'll warn you, though, inter-world travelers have reported having… different dreams than the natives to this world. You know how to get my attention. Just let me know if you'd like to leave.
…
Entry One - I've been left here for a while, free to start a new life in this world. I'm excited. I have lucid dreams often - can I really make my own reality here? I'm getting sleepy now - we'll see!
Entry Two - Last night ended up being a nightmare, but that's alright. It wasn't that bad. The only changes I observed that were from my dream were simple, just stuff like my paint color changing, furniture moved a bit, that sort of thing. Well, off to bed I go again!
Entry Three - Nightmare again. It was worse this time, and the changes in reality were more significant, too. I kept seeing something out of the corner of my eye, today. It drove me crazy, trying to tell if the thing really did become real, or if I'm just seeing nothing and the shadow that seems to be ever-present is the only change.
Entry Four - (DELETED BC SCRATCH THINKS ITS BAD HAHA)
Entry Five - Oh no. No, no, no. Last night I dreamed I wasn't able to get out of this world. And when I woke up, thoroughly scared, and tried to contact Them to leave, I couldn't. I'm stuck. Stuck here forever, in this horrible, horrible world.
Ok cool! I need just a few more words to get 2k, but now I'm done!
Wowee it's day two (electric boogaloo?) of cabin wars (at least for me, same UTC day but I don't live in UTC so) and I've got two writing dares and a word war to get done, so,,, here we goooo!
(WORD WAR DELETED BC SCRATCH THINKS ITS ALSO BAD BRUH)
Well that was fun! I'm not sure if I won or not yet because clev hasn't responded with their time yet but that's ok I'll just continue on to my writing dares! I got two so here they are:
1. Ye Olde English, future tense (second person)
Before thy heart setteth out to find /
thy love's true name, in the blind /
thine eyes must seeketh one who is true /
oer mountaintops high, through a sea of blue
Ooh fun! I just tried to write some sort of prophecy or something, it doesn't mean anything lmao. did you know there's a difference between thee and thou? it's kind of confusing, but thou is the SUBJECT while thee is the OBJECT. basically, if the person being spoken to is doing something, use thee (“thee wash dishes so elegantly”), but if the something is being done to the person being spoken to, use thou (“yes, but next, I shall wash thou”)! thy and thine are also different from each other - both mean your, but thine is used if the following word begins with a vowel. I know all this because I had to write a continuation script for Romeo and Juliet. Yes, it sucked. Basically Friar took out a potion that would heal Romeo magically even though Romeo literally died instantly? I had to write it in like 20 minutes though so I guess it's good enough for that. Anyway, onto dare number two!!
2. story based off of random song - song: Out of My League (Chill AF) by Fitz & The Tantrums
The sun sets below the marine layer over the deep blue-grey sea as fires flicker in fire pits across the beach. Various songs drift over the sand, their loudness varying according to their distance from where we sit, blending into a gentle background noise. Small children scream and run from the water, their parents trying to get them to go home, teenagers stand around fires, talking and laughing loudly, some people are wrapping up beach volleyball matches at the public courts.
I watch your face as the firelight flickers against it, lighting up your eyes and giving your skin a soft glow. Your hair is tousled by the ever-present light wind blowing through the ocean side, but it's still as smooth and shiny as ever. I can't believe I'm really here, sitting with you, my girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
That's a word I never thought I'd call our relationship.
You're out of my league. Way, wayyy out. Every word you speak sends my heartbeat skipping and when you look at me I feel like I need to faint. Sometimes I think I should pinch myself, this feels like a dream. You're a dream.
The song on my little Bluetooth speaker changes, this time sending soft piano and guitar noises into the collection of music on the beach. It's growing steadily darker and a chill goes through my body as the air cools, but I could stay out here forever with you, wrapped up in a blanket on the soft sand.
Ok done! I need about 200 more words to get an even one thousand, so I guess I'll just do some basic stream of thought writing? This kind of thing can go really fast so I'll get quite a few words out quickly, I think. Do you guys ever get quiet and quite mixed up? Not the meanings, like, when you're typing do you accidentally type one when you mean the other? I do.
What sound level do you like your keyboards at? How click-y do you like it to be when you type? For me I prefer quieter keyboards (hey, I got quiet first try!), but I do like a little bit of click. My mom's keyboard is wayyyy too loud, like, I can't hear myself think when I'm typing on it. Even trying to type slowly and quietly ends up in a loud clicky mess. I think it overstimulates me, I can't even be in the same room as it when she's typing. She says she wants a new one because it's too loud but she's had the same one forever, so I don't think it'll come soon.
Woohoo last war of the day! We've halved it (because we can) so it's just 2250 words in 7 hours, not too hard. Lemme check to see how many are still needed so I can plan out an even number accordingly! Ok so we have written 1052 words so far, I could probably churn out another 1000 to get myself a nice even 4000 words from cabin wars and then we'd only need about 200 words after that, and I am sure other people are working on this war too (not just me) so it should be fine. I can't wait for the next daily though, because then I'll have three dailies completed (I joined late as a backup camper; I always forget to sign up for swc and sac until like four days after they start (and not because I come across content about them, I don't use scratch except during camp times and for those camps only, I just randomly remember LATE!!)) and then I can get a matching sci-fi profile picture! Zion is doing SUCH an AMAZING job on them and I can't wait to see what they do for mine, I'm sure it'll be absolutely beautiful!! Alright I've written a little over 200 words. I kinda wanna try an unofficial (not for points) word war because that'll motivate me to just spit words out of my brain as fast as possible. I think I'll go until the 300 word benchmark and then look for the prompts on the word wars project, they'll probably give me some ideas because I don't exactly want to write just this type of writing for an entire thousand words. I just dyed my hair and I hope it turned out well because I left it on for like 45 minutes- done!
Prompt one - (first sentence oops)
Sometimes doors don't go where they're supposed to. They should, of course, go directly to what's advertised to be on the other side - an exit to the outdoor world, maybe, or perhaps the bathroom, but the one I was standing just outside of certainly did not lead to the server room of the database. At first I'd thought that maybe I'd read the sign wrong - maybe it'd said space room? But I was definitely not expecting to be standing in a planetarium-like place. Stars flickered above my head, spiraling into intricate patterns, providing a dim glow to see by. I could see planets that must have been magnified thousands of times whizzing by, spiraling around pinpricks of light that must have been their stars, still only the size of ants. I thought that maybe I could see some sort of color in the distance, contrasting against the otherwise colorless void of space, reds and oranges melting together into a beautiful warm-colored thing, for lack of a better world. It was beautiful, this room. But still, I had a job, and it was on a time limit, so I reluctantly left that place.
Ughh I wanna write fanfic!! But I'm nervous to because I feel like I won't be able to properly characterize the two characters in my favorite ship so I just don't want to at all so I won't mess up. I guess that's the opposite of what my mindset should be - any writing is good writing because it improves your skills, vocabulary, and ability to eloquently say what you mean (something I really struggle with!! a picture is worth a thousand words hits hard ughh) but still I hate the feeling of thinking about myself opening up my old writing a year or two later and cringing (like, hard. I pulled up some old fanfic from last March swc and I almost passed out. It was soo bad ugh,,). I think maybe I'll try to just work on writing romantic scenes with characters that are just made up random (so I don't have any connection to them and I'm not going back and editing every single thing they do to make it just perfectly characterized yk?) because when I did the make your own genre daily a few days ago I ended up writing a few lines that I'm actually kind of proud of! Another thing I really struggle with in writing is length. I usually end up hurrying through the last half of my piece because I get bored/want to skip to the good parts/have already written the good parts and now have lost interest. I need to really focus on getting descriptions stuck in every which way and dialogue - oh, yes, dialogue! I struggle with it more than I'd like to admit. I usually don't even include dialogue in my stories. Maybe it's because I'm a very quiet person and I usually process everything using the voice in my head to myself. It's a lot easier for me to just write the story using a character's thoughts than to actually make them have conversations with others. Oh I'm almost done with my thousand words, I wasn't even looking! It's so easy to just spit what I'm thinking directly onto the document because I already think just like this in my head a lot haha,,
great of course the second I write that I blank out on ideas to continue.
I'm going to try to do a 1m 30s sprint for the next 100 words!
Bam bang bah here I go! That was my attempt at some sort of onomatopoeia I should NOT have tried to spell that world oh jeez- right I'm already doing terribly! This is within my words per minute speed (100 words in 1 minute and 30 seconds) but I'm halfway done with only oh wait never mind I'm right on track! I am sitting. In front of my window? My dog's next to me laying on the carpet with her legs everywhere (I don't think even I could do that with my own legs) oh no I have ten seconds!
cabin wars writing completed :)
cabin wars!!
It was a relatively normal day that they came. The sun was high in the sky, shining down and warming our skin as clouds flitted across the blue shades above. No one expected it - not even the farmers, who hadn't heard the whispering among Them. They hid it well, stopping Their conversations when a non-Them came into earshot.
Once it started, though, it was over fast and relatively painlessly. Probably because of the surprise factor, really. It came as a huge shock to basically every person on the planet. One moment going about their everyday lives, the next overrun with the new bird overlords. Their strategy was well though out, fast, and efficient - infiltrate the government offices, shut down the systems, wreak havoc, and then watch as the world erupted into chaos for a few moments - then, as society began to descend into madness, They offered a helping hand (ahem, wing) to us.
So now our species - well, our entire planet, really - is ruled by chickens. And, for the most part, no one is happy about it. Sure, some of us have decided to accept their fates, but the rest of us are cooperating with spiteful looks on our face. That's going to be humanity's new motto, I suppose - contentious compliance.
There's talk of rebellion, muttered undertones in a sea of conformity, whispered between us as we queue in endless lines for what the chickens have deemed to be “necessary services” for us - daily wi-fi limits (codes for Internet access that refresh at midnight), work assignments (rotating jobs now, they've decided that we won't be as powerful if we don't specialize), and our food allotments (usually some type of grain, like whole wheat bread, with a plant-based protein. No dairy, eggs, or meat, they predictably have problems with that. The vegans should be rejoicing, but they're more concerned with the fact that the chickens don't know our nutrition requirements and aren't giving us proper amounts of things).
As for me? I'm wholeheartedly for rebellion, but I keep a neutral face when I'm out and about. I say it's best to take control back in the same way they took it from us - with no warning. I meet with others, sometimes, and we speak in hushed tones about plots and plans and ways we might be able to come back from this.
Others say that peace is a better option. They say that it's not so bad, that maybe in time the system will balance and we'll come back into some sort of power. Maybe we'll be able to hold elections again, they say, although I'm not sure what that has to do with anything. Something like freedom, I guess? But it's a stretch.
A select few advocate for chicken control. They say it's better than where the world was going, anyway, and we might as well welcome our new chicken overlords. I suspect they may be getting favors from the chickens, though.
So, you've heard all sides. What will it be?
Ah, 502 words for a overlord chicken prompt! How delightful. Now, though, I think my creativity is stretched a bit thin (like butter scraped over too much toast!! /ref), so I'm going to try doing something informational or argumentative. That's where my strength in writing usually lies, anyway, and I'm pretty fast at that (though not as fast as creative or narrative writing because I have to be getting the facts right) so I guess I'll take an argumentative essay prompt list and just write short quick thoughts on each issue (well, each issue that pertains to me or that I have an opinion on. I'm not going to write about whether or not I think salmon should be dyed, or if it should at least be labeled, because I have no information on that topic and doing research would take a while.
Does (f,b) need a “dislike” button? In this day and age, Facebook is a tool that is rapidly becoming obsolete, with new social medias like Instagram, (s,c), and (t,t) taking its place. However, it still has an active user base, consisting mostly of middle-aged women. You'd probably easily find your aunts and mom on the user list. (f,b) notably has a “like” button built right into the platform, with which users can show their support of a post. Some argue that they should also add a “dislike” button, but that could lead to fights starting as people dislike media they don't agree with. For example, if someone disliked a post about cats, that could lead to an argument in the comments section of the post about the age old debate, cats versus dogs. This new feature would lead to debate, which in some cases is helpful to understand other people's ideas, but in this case would most likely result in hateful comments and ruined friendships. So, no, (f,b) does not need a “dislike” button - simply not liking a post is a much more effective and peaceful way to not show your agreement with something.
Are television shows and movies “too white”? Video media these days are becoming more and more diverse, but this has led to some people arguing that there is “too much diversity”. They say that it's not realistic to have so many characters who are people of color, LGBTQ+, of various religions, and who speak different languages. However, it is entirely realistic to have a very diverse cast in video productions - the problem with these people is that their own real-life environments are not diverse at all. Many of these complaints come from people who grew up in conservative all-white communities, where they were rarely exposed to people “different” from them. The problem here is not with the television industry, rather, it's with the people complaining - they simple need to reframe their perception of the world, in the small and simple way of accepting that there are tons of different kinds of people in the world, and that's how it reality is.
Do we still need libraries? This is a question that, although not often, consistently pops up in debates around both the topics of public spaces and digitizing content and media. The answer to this is a resounding YES. While libraries were definitely more of a necessity in the past, when the internet wasn't much more that the Pong game and to research any topic or read any book you had to go to that in-person building stacked to the top with both fictional and non-fictional books alike, libraries are still a frequently used service nowadays. More and more books, articles, and printed materials are being scanned onto the internet or published there in the first place, but there is no comparison to a real library. While its selection is much, much smaller, you can easily walk into a library and walk out with books you've never heard of. Yes, you can find random books on the internet, too, but you'd still probably research each random book you find and not pick it because of that. In a library, though, it's possible to go straight to a random shelf in a random section, pick a book with an interesting or colorful spine, and read it on the spot with no hesitation. However, libraries are much more than a place to just store books - they're also home to community activities, services for those in need, the site of fundraisers for charities, cities, and community projects, and a place that anyone can go if they need a place to spend time. For example, children often go to libraries to wait out time until their parents can pick them up after school, and people who have a bad home life can escape at libraries for a few hours. Libraries are safe, quiet places to make friends, build relationships, and seek help.
Ok I didn't really have any idea what to write (I got tired of the argumentative writing thingy) so I texted a guy asking for prompts and he asked chatgpt and I got a few good ones I think! Well, maybe not like, good good, but they seem kind of fun to write so I guess here we go!
prompt 1 - the first day of spring from a flower's perspective
Sometimes the sun beats down on the earth, drying the dirt into cracked shapes. Sometimes the wind blows hard, sending leaves of warm colors into the air. Sometimes the sky opens up, letting down torrents of rain, sleet, snow, and everything in between.
That's when the flowers sleep, their petals closing into their buds and retreating back into their stems.
The spring marks their return, which is why it is widely regarded as the most beautiful season - blooms of various colors adorn hills, fields, and valleys, swatches of bright paint against the slowly rippling grass.
The first day of spring is when many flowers open their buds back up, slowly letting their petals out into the sun and warming themselves. After a long, cold winter, they're glad to feel the kiss of light again, a shock against the cool air still lightly blowing against their leaves.
Such is the life of a flower - although not long, they still brighten up landscapes.
prompt 2 - a world where dreams blend into reality
Dreams are often the subject of debate in this world, discussed and contemplated since the beginning of communication. It's natural they would be, of course, they're like a second reality that we can only access once our bodies are still, and they're incorporated into many religions, but in the end, they're really not that big of a deal.
In other worlds, though?
Quite the opposite.
Take the one you're standing in now, for example - in this one, the dreams an individual sees at night influences their reality in the morning. For most, it's not big parts of their life. If they dreamed about a huge adventure with friends, they might end up taking part in a previously unplanned scavenger hunt at school. I see you look surprised. It's not strange here, it's how it's always been.
What's that? You'd like to try living in this one for a bit?
Alright, you can do that. I'll warn you, though, inter-world travelers have reported having… different dreams than the natives to this world. You know how to get my attention. Just let me know if you'd like to leave.
…
Entry One - I've been left here for a while, free to start a new life in this world. I'm excited. I have lucid dreams often - can I really make my own reality here? I'm getting sleepy now - we'll see!
Entry Two - Last night ended up being a nightmare, but that's alright. It wasn't that bad. The only changes I observed that were from my dream were simple, just stuff like my paint color changing, furniture moved a bit, that sort of thing. Well, off to bed I go again!
Entry Three - Nightmare again. It was worse this time, and the changes in reality were more significant, too. I kept seeing something out of the corner of my eye, today. It drove me crazy, trying to tell if the thing really did become real, or if I'm just seeing nothing and the shadow that seems to be ever-present is the only change.
Entry Four - (DELETED BC SCRATCH THINKS ITS BAD HAHA)
Entry Five - Oh no. No, no, no. Last night I dreamed I wasn't able to get out of this world. And when I woke up, thoroughly scared, and tried to contact Them to leave, I couldn't. I'm stuck. Stuck here forever, in this horrible, horrible world.
Ok cool! I need just a few more words to get 2k, but now I'm done!
Wowee it's day two (electric boogaloo?) of cabin wars (at least for me, same UTC day but I don't live in UTC so) and I've got two writing dares and a word war to get done, so,,, here we goooo!
(WORD WAR DELETED BC SCRATCH THINKS ITS ALSO BAD BRUH)
Well that was fun! I'm not sure if I won or not yet because clev hasn't responded with their time yet but that's ok I'll just continue on to my writing dares! I got two so here they are:
1. Ye Olde English, future tense (second person)
Before thy heart setteth out to find /
thy love's true name, in the blind /
thine eyes must seeketh one who is true /
oer mountaintops high, through a sea of blue
Ooh fun! I just tried to write some sort of prophecy or something, it doesn't mean anything lmao. did you know there's a difference between thee and thou? it's kind of confusing, but thou is the SUBJECT while thee is the OBJECT. basically, if the person being spoken to is doing something, use thee (“thee wash dishes so elegantly”), but if the something is being done to the person being spoken to, use thou (“yes, but next, I shall wash thou”)! thy and thine are also different from each other - both mean your, but thine is used if the following word begins with a vowel. I know all this because I had to write a continuation script for Romeo and Juliet. Yes, it sucked. Basically Friar took out a potion that would heal Romeo magically even though Romeo literally died instantly? I had to write it in like 20 minutes though so I guess it's good enough for that. Anyway, onto dare number two!!
2. story based off of random song - song: Out of My League (Chill AF) by Fitz & The Tantrums
The sun sets below the marine layer over the deep blue-grey sea as fires flicker in fire pits across the beach. Various songs drift over the sand, their loudness varying according to their distance from where we sit, blending into a gentle background noise. Small children scream and run from the water, their parents trying to get them to go home, teenagers stand around fires, talking and laughing loudly, some people are wrapping up beach volleyball matches at the public courts.
I watch your face as the firelight flickers against it, lighting up your eyes and giving your skin a soft glow. Your hair is tousled by the ever-present light wind blowing through the ocean side, but it's still as smooth and shiny as ever. I can't believe I'm really here, sitting with you, my girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
That's a word I never thought I'd call our relationship.
You're out of my league. Way, wayyy out. Every word you speak sends my heartbeat skipping and when you look at me I feel like I need to faint. Sometimes I think I should pinch myself, this feels like a dream. You're a dream.
The song on my little Bluetooth speaker changes, this time sending soft piano and guitar noises into the collection of music on the beach. It's growing steadily darker and a chill goes through my body as the air cools, but I could stay out here forever with you, wrapped up in a blanket on the soft sand.
Ok done! I need about 200 more words to get an even one thousand, so I guess I'll just do some basic stream of thought writing? This kind of thing can go really fast so I'll get quite a few words out quickly, I think. Do you guys ever get quiet and quite mixed up? Not the meanings, like, when you're typing do you accidentally type one when you mean the other? I do.
What sound level do you like your keyboards at? How click-y do you like it to be when you type? For me I prefer quieter keyboards (hey, I got quiet first try!), but I do like a little bit of click. My mom's keyboard is wayyyy too loud, like, I can't hear myself think when I'm typing on it. Even trying to type slowly and quietly ends up in a loud clicky mess. I think it overstimulates me, I can't even be in the same room as it when she's typing. She says she wants a new one because it's too loud but she's had the same one forever, so I don't think it'll come soon.
Woohoo last war of the day! We've halved it (because we can) so it's just 2250 words in 7 hours, not too hard. Lemme check to see how many are still needed so I can plan out an even number accordingly! Ok so we have written 1052 words so far, I could probably churn out another 1000 to get myself a nice even 4000 words from cabin wars and then we'd only need about 200 words after that, and I am sure other people are working on this war too (not just me) so it should be fine. I can't wait for the next daily though, because then I'll have three dailies completed (I joined late as a backup camper; I always forget to sign up for swc and sac until like four days after they start (and not because I come across content about them, I don't use scratch except during camp times and for those camps only, I just randomly remember LATE!!)) and then I can get a matching sci-fi profile picture! Zion is doing SUCH an AMAZING job on them and I can't wait to see what they do for mine, I'm sure it'll be absolutely beautiful!! Alright I've written a little over 200 words. I kinda wanna try an unofficial (not for points) word war because that'll motivate me to just spit words out of my brain as fast as possible. I think I'll go until the 300 word benchmark and then look for the prompts on the word wars project, they'll probably give me some ideas because I don't exactly want to write just this type of writing for an entire thousand words. I just dyed my hair and I hope it turned out well because I left it on for like 45 minutes- done!
Prompt one - (first sentence oops)
Sometimes doors don't go where they're supposed to. They should, of course, go directly to what's advertised to be on the other side - an exit to the outdoor world, maybe, or perhaps the bathroom, but the one I was standing just outside of certainly did not lead to the server room of the database. At first I'd thought that maybe I'd read the sign wrong - maybe it'd said space room? But I was definitely not expecting to be standing in a planetarium-like place. Stars flickered above my head, spiraling into intricate patterns, providing a dim glow to see by. I could see planets that must have been magnified thousands of times whizzing by, spiraling around pinpricks of light that must have been their stars, still only the size of ants. I thought that maybe I could see some sort of color in the distance, contrasting against the otherwise colorless void of space, reds and oranges melting together into a beautiful warm-colored thing, for lack of a better world. It was beautiful, this room. But still, I had a job, and it was on a time limit, so I reluctantly left that place.
Ughh I wanna write fanfic!! But I'm nervous to because I feel like I won't be able to properly characterize the two characters in my favorite ship so I just don't want to at all so I won't mess up. I guess that's the opposite of what my mindset should be - any writing is good writing because it improves your skills, vocabulary, and ability to eloquently say what you mean (something I really struggle with!! a picture is worth a thousand words hits hard ughh) but still I hate the feeling of thinking about myself opening up my old writing a year or two later and cringing (like, hard. I pulled up some old fanfic from last March swc and I almost passed out. It was soo bad ugh,,). I think maybe I'll try to just work on writing romantic scenes with characters that are just made up random (so I don't have any connection to them and I'm not going back and editing every single thing they do to make it just perfectly characterized yk?) because when I did the make your own genre daily a few days ago I ended up writing a few lines that I'm actually kind of proud of! Another thing I really struggle with in writing is length. I usually end up hurrying through the last half of my piece because I get bored/want to skip to the good parts/have already written the good parts and now have lost interest. I need to really focus on getting descriptions stuck in every which way and dialogue - oh, yes, dialogue! I struggle with it more than I'd like to admit. I usually don't even include dialogue in my stories. Maybe it's because I'm a very quiet person and I usually process everything using the voice in my head to myself. It's a lot easier for me to just write the story using a character's thoughts than to actually make them have conversations with others. Oh I'm almost done with my thousand words, I wasn't even looking! It's so easy to just spit what I'm thinking directly onto the document because I already think just like this in my head a lot haha,,
great of course the second I write that I blank out on ideas to continue.
I'm going to try to do a 1m 30s sprint for the next 100 words!
Bam bang bah here I go! That was my attempt at some sort of onomatopoeia I should NOT have tried to spell that world oh jeez- right I'm already doing terribly! This is within my words per minute speed (100 words in 1 minute and 30 seconds) but I'm halfway done with only oh wait never mind I'm right on track! I am sitting. In front of my window? My dog's next to me laying on the carpet with her legs everywhere (I don't think even I could do that with my own legs) oh no I have ten seconds!
cabin wars writing completed :)
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daily 11 - 359/200 words
introspection story
things i want to change: lack of creativity
The paint witch.
That's what she was called.
For as long as anyone could remember, there had been a witch living just at the edge of town who had done nothing but sell paint. She sold any paint color you could name, and ones you couldn't, too. From red to blue, metallic to matte, sparkly to puffy, she had it. While her shop wasn't particularly busy, it was the one every artist or creative person went to when they needed supplies of any sort.
No one knew where she'd come from, who she really was, or how she made enough money from her customers to keep the shop running - she didn't seem to be one for small talk, and any attempts at asking about her personal life were quickly shut down.
Still, people wondered, as they tend to do, and many guesses had been made over the many years her shop had been in the town.
She had no friends, and no family as far as anyone could tell, and she looked old but was still nimble and quick of mind. It was a mystery.
A mystery she was aware of, no doubt, as she'd surely heard the whispers and felt the pointed looks, but she seemed to take no mind of it.
She never made any art herself, that was something she was clear about - whenever asked about her own portfolio, she would simply say that she didn't paint.
However, it's said that, if you sneak into her shop on the night of a harvest moon, you can see her sitting in front of an empty canvas, her brush hovering just over the surface, waiting.
Waiting for something that never came.
No one that saw it ever said anything about it, even those who'd gossip about anything. They all felt differently after seeing her like that. And, strangely, after watching her wait for - for who knows what - anyone who'd seen it slowly felt their ideas for art slipping away from them.
Perhaps it was best said in the words of the witch herself - creativity is a hard thing to come by, and an even harder thing to keep.
introspection story
things i want to change: lack of creativity
The paint witch.
That's what she was called.
For as long as anyone could remember, there had been a witch living just at the edge of town who had done nothing but sell paint. She sold any paint color you could name, and ones you couldn't, too. From red to blue, metallic to matte, sparkly to puffy, she had it. While her shop wasn't particularly busy, it was the one every artist or creative person went to when they needed supplies of any sort.
No one knew where she'd come from, who she really was, or how she made enough money from her customers to keep the shop running - she didn't seem to be one for small talk, and any attempts at asking about her personal life were quickly shut down.
Still, people wondered, as they tend to do, and many guesses had been made over the many years her shop had been in the town.
She had no friends, and no family as far as anyone could tell, and she looked old but was still nimble and quick of mind. It was a mystery.
A mystery she was aware of, no doubt, as she'd surely heard the whispers and felt the pointed looks, but she seemed to take no mind of it.
She never made any art herself, that was something she was clear about - whenever asked about her own portfolio, she would simply say that she didn't paint.
However, it's said that, if you sneak into her shop on the night of a harvest moon, you can see her sitting in front of an empty canvas, her brush hovering just over the surface, waiting.
Waiting for something that never came.
No one that saw it ever said anything about it, even those who'd gossip about anything. They all felt differently after seeing her like that. And, strangely, after watching her wait for - for who knows what - anyone who'd seen it slowly felt their ideas for art slipping away from them.
Perhaps it was best said in the words of the witch herself - creativity is a hard thing to come by, and an even harder thing to keep.
rainy-rayne
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word wars - 461
with @gladiolus12
(won)
In the presence of ghosts, there was only one thing left to do. Well, two, actually, but only one was even something that was considerable for now - I could either hide (bad, ghosts can go through walls which means they can probably see through walls, so they can probably also see through any object as well, and that would REALLY suck for me because it would mean that I would be seen in my hiding place, and I couldn't hide outside the graveyard because I was under contract and I wouldn't get my pay which I really need for my new car, since my old one broke down and I've been walking just about everywhere. The second option, the only viable one, was to summon an entity that would destroy the ghosts! Or, actually, I had been thinking about maybe just de-summoning the ghosts- is that a thing? Un-summoning ghosts? I'd just have to try it out. After all, it couldn't really HURT - it wouldn't hurt any less than ghosts CATCHING me, at least. So, with that absolutely delightful thought stuck in my mind, bouncing around like a group of a few pixels in a game of Pong, I began to gather the materials I thought might be necessary for de-summoning ghosts. Chalk, to draw some sort of spell circle or something, salt, because if I accidentally summoned a demon I would probably need to somehow contain it and salt circles were supposed to keep demons from leaving them, candles because mood lighting is nice and it was also way too dark to see what I was going, and of course a white sheet to disguise myself as one of them in the case that it didn't work and they all found me. The last thing on my list was something I was really hoping to not have to use, but I had it as a backup plan b sort of thing just in case everything went pear-shaped (/ref). Once I had gathered all the necessary materials, I tried to pull out my chalk again (it was the first thing I had grabbed, from the chalkboard inside the graveyard's guard station) from my pocket, but it wasn't there anymore! I freaked out and just about had a panic attack - I couldn't stay the rest of my nighttime shift here in a graveyard with a bajillion ghosts following me around! - but I sprinted back and grabbed the last piece of chalk and returned to the site I was planning on making my… thing. I pulled out the piece of chalk and then remembered that I should probably use the salt first, just in case, so I retrieved my salt shaker and opened the lid on the top of it and then I
with @gladiolus12
(won)
In the presence of ghosts, there was only one thing left to do. Well, two, actually, but only one was even something that was considerable for now - I could either hide (bad, ghosts can go through walls which means they can probably see through walls, so they can probably also see through any object as well, and that would REALLY suck for me because it would mean that I would be seen in my hiding place, and I couldn't hide outside the graveyard because I was under contract and I wouldn't get my pay which I really need for my new car, since my old one broke down and I've been walking just about everywhere. The second option, the only viable one, was to summon an entity that would destroy the ghosts! Or, actually, I had been thinking about maybe just de-summoning the ghosts- is that a thing? Un-summoning ghosts? I'd just have to try it out. After all, it couldn't really HURT - it wouldn't hurt any less than ghosts CATCHING me, at least. So, with that absolutely delightful thought stuck in my mind, bouncing around like a group of a few pixels in a game of Pong, I began to gather the materials I thought might be necessary for de-summoning ghosts. Chalk, to draw some sort of spell circle or something, salt, because if I accidentally summoned a demon I would probably need to somehow contain it and salt circles were supposed to keep demons from leaving them, candles because mood lighting is nice and it was also way too dark to see what I was going, and of course a white sheet to disguise myself as one of them in the case that it didn't work and they all found me. The last thing on my list was something I was really hoping to not have to use, but I had it as a backup plan b sort of thing just in case everything went pear-shaped (/ref). Once I had gathered all the necessary materials, I tried to pull out my chalk again (it was the first thing I had grabbed, from the chalkboard inside the graveyard's guard station) from my pocket, but it wasn't there anymore! I freaked out and just about had a panic attack - I couldn't stay the rest of my nighttime shift here in a graveyard with a bajillion ghosts following me around! - but I sprinted back and grabbed the last piece of chalk and returned to the site I was planning on making my… thing. I pulled out the piece of chalk and then remembered that I should probably use the salt first, just in case, so I retrieved my salt shaker and opened the lid on the top of it and then I
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critique - 312
with @-bookdragon-
( part one https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7851678/ )
Ok so right off the bat I've just gotta say - this piece is so amazing! I read through it pretty quick yesterday and then again, slower, today, and both times I've been absolutely knocked out of the water with this. I love how you used what's sort of a one-sided conversation to tell the whole story. It's pretty hard to do this and simultaneously get the reader to understand what's going on and also make the writing flow well, but you definitely managed to do both! I've never read Prometheus's story before (all I knew was the punishment part of it, not what happened before) but I could get a good sense of what happened prior to your piece through the dialogue. You characterized both the speaker and the listener quite well and I'm able to begin get a sense of their personalities (as much as one can in short piece like this). I also loved the last line, it really conveys the sort of tone(?) of the piece and also Prometheus's name only being said at the end of the piece was really nice. The way you used “They” as essentially a name and bolded it works really well here, but there's a bit of confusion when there's They and they - I couldn't really tell what was supposed to be what, specifically in, “because they are… entertaining to Them”. I get what it means now, but on first read, that bit actually really tripped be up and sort of took me out of my,, reading mode (ykwim?). I have one tiny conventions detail for you - you used “gifted” and “gift” in the same sentence, which is fine but it's nice to have word variety. Maybe change gifted to gave? Overall, though I really enjoy your writing and the flow, details, and storyline of this piece are delightful to read through!
with @-bookdragon-
( part one https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7851678/ )
Ok so right off the bat I've just gotta say - this piece is so amazing! I read through it pretty quick yesterday and then again, slower, today, and both times I've been absolutely knocked out of the water with this. I love how you used what's sort of a one-sided conversation to tell the whole story. It's pretty hard to do this and simultaneously get the reader to understand what's going on and also make the writing flow well, but you definitely managed to do both! I've never read Prometheus's story before (all I knew was the punishment part of it, not what happened before) but I could get a good sense of what happened prior to your piece through the dialogue. You characterized both the speaker and the listener quite well and I'm able to begin get a sense of their personalities (as much as one can in short piece like this). I also loved the last line, it really conveys the sort of tone(?) of the piece and also Prometheus's name only being said at the end of the piece was really nice. The way you used “They” as essentially a name and bolded it works really well here, but there's a bit of confusion when there's They and they - I couldn't really tell what was supposed to be what, specifically in, “because they are… entertaining to Them”. I get what it means now, but on first read, that bit actually really tripped be up and sort of took me out of my,, reading mode (ykwim?). I have one tiny conventions detail for you - you used “gifted” and “gift” in the same sentence, which is fine but it's nice to have word variety. Maybe change gifted to gave? Overall, though I really enjoy your writing and the flow, details, and storyline of this piece are delightful to read through!
rainy-rayne
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daily 13 - 401/300 words
inspo from host’s profile
@MoonlitSeas
It was dark in the cave. It always was.
Chained to the wall behind us, only able to stare at the dark and jagged stone wall in front of us, we were never meant to see anything else.
Shadows flitted over the top of the wall occasionally, giving us glimpses of the world behind us, the world we were never supposed to know.
All the things that could be seen in the passing shadows had been given names, long ago, by other prisoners, who were now forgotten, faded to dust. The memories had long since disintegrated, just as ours would in time. Still, we passed down the names to each new generation, along with stories of what could be out there, sitting just behind us.
It was lonely to sit there at times, even being surrounded by others in the same predicament. We'd talked to every other person there countless times since existing, and being given the same experiences since birth, there wasn't much to bring up, so there was no longer any reason to make idle conversation with others.
Attempts to escape were never acted upon, and the frequency with which they were thought up and planned was decreasing as others reminded each other how there was no way out of this place. Still, no one really wanted to escape. This was all we knew, and all we would know for the rest of our lives, from shortly after birth to shortly after death.
Every day, we all watched the cave wall, waiting for a shadow to pass across. We'd name the things we saw, as much as we could, with our own names. We never knew what some of the shapes entailed, and those ones we gave the same name, regardless of shape. Naming each shadow accurately was like a game for us, our source of entertainment, and we never tired of it.
It would never last forever, though.
I was too curious, they told me.
I wanted to know what made those shadows, what sorts of things formed the shapes we watched for eternity.
So, one day, I left.
It wasn't so hard as had been thought, really. The chains with which we were kept with were old and weak, and while they took my full strength to break, they shattered in the end.
And I got up.
And I turned around.
And I saw.
inspo from host’s profile
@MoonlitSeas
It was dark in the cave. It always was.
Chained to the wall behind us, only able to stare at the dark and jagged stone wall in front of us, we were never meant to see anything else.
Shadows flitted over the top of the wall occasionally, giving us glimpses of the world behind us, the world we were never supposed to know.
All the things that could be seen in the passing shadows had been given names, long ago, by other prisoners, who were now forgotten, faded to dust. The memories had long since disintegrated, just as ours would in time. Still, we passed down the names to each new generation, along with stories of what could be out there, sitting just behind us.
It was lonely to sit there at times, even being surrounded by others in the same predicament. We'd talked to every other person there countless times since existing, and being given the same experiences since birth, there wasn't much to bring up, so there was no longer any reason to make idle conversation with others.
Attempts to escape were never acted upon, and the frequency with which they were thought up and planned was decreasing as others reminded each other how there was no way out of this place. Still, no one really wanted to escape. This was all we knew, and all we would know for the rest of our lives, from shortly after birth to shortly after death.
Every day, we all watched the cave wall, waiting for a shadow to pass across. We'd name the things we saw, as much as we could, with our own names. We never knew what some of the shapes entailed, and those ones we gave the same name, regardless of shape. Naming each shadow accurately was like a game for us, our source of entertainment, and we never tired of it.
It would never last forever, though.
I was too curious, they told me.
I wanted to know what made those shadows, what sorts of things formed the shapes we watched for eternity.
So, one day, I left.
It wasn't so hard as had been thought, really. The chains with which we were kept with were old and weak, and while they took my full strength to break, they shattered in the end.
And I got up.
And I turned around.
And I saw.
rainy-rayne
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daily 14 - 615/500 words
same starting and ending
The sun sets over the marshlands, drowning the swaying reeds in the deep navy of night as we look out across the water. Loons call out through the quickly cooling air, their songs intertwining with each other. The breeze picks up as the last rays of light disappear, sending a chill through my body. It's time.
You pick up the bundle of sticks and dry leaves, and I get the lighter fluid out of the back of the truck. We set out through the reeds, stepping carefully over the water. Another loon calls as we step across the first swiftly-moving stream. It's freezing out now, and we're both shivering as the wind whips at our hair.
No matter, I think, it won't be cold for long.
We reach the pre-decided upon spot and set down our loads, and you rip open the bundle of sticks and scatter them across the somewhat-dry dirt. I look at the dried reeds surrounding us skeptically.
“You think these will burn?” I ask you.
You turn to me and stare at the reeds before nodding.
I rip the dead reeds out of the soft soil, tossing them into the waterlogged ground behind me, clearing a ring around the sticks. The moon begins to rise as I complete my task. You pick up the lighter fluid and raise your shoulders, asking. I nod. You pour a good amount over the sticks, letting it saturate the dry wood. I take a match out of my pocket and strike it across a rough stone nearby.
The glow of the match as it burns provides light for you to work by, quickly, so that I don't burn myself. You toss a few thicker sticks on top of the kindling and kick it together a bit.
I drop the match on the wood and we stand next to each other as it goes up in flames, flickering as the blaze leaps from branch to branch. It consumes the wood quickly and you toss a thin log on top. We look at each other and nod, deciding it's good enough.
You run back to the truck to grab the drinks and chairs. I poke the fire around a bit, setting a few more logs on top. You're back before I'm done and we unfold the camp chairs together before sitting down and talking.
We talk for a few hours, but as the night drags on, our eyes grow heavy. We're both drifting off to sleep before long.
…
The sun sets over the marshlands again, fading behind the horizon line as it does every day since the beginning and will every day until the end. The woman looks at the man, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, and his eyes mirror hers. A solitary loon calls, alone, as the breeze picks up again, signaling dusk. It's time.
The man picks up the medical kit and the woman gets the stretcher from the back of the truck. They set out across the burnt ground together, stepping carefully over charred reeds. It's colder now, but heat still emanates from some spots in the dirt. The two walk slowly across the scorched marshlands, searching, searching. They call back and forth, signaling their locations, but after hours there's still nothing to be found. The blackened reeds blend into the singed soil, and in the dark nothing can be seen.
The wind dies down near two in the morning and the man and woman stop their carefully coordinated circular paths, but there's no sound to be heard, no cries for help, nothing.
The silence is more eerie than anything else.
The loon calls once more and the two head back to the truck.
same starting and ending
The sun sets over the marshlands, drowning the swaying reeds in the deep navy of night as we look out across the water. Loons call out through the quickly cooling air, their songs intertwining with each other. The breeze picks up as the last rays of light disappear, sending a chill through my body. It's time.
You pick up the bundle of sticks and dry leaves, and I get the lighter fluid out of the back of the truck. We set out through the reeds, stepping carefully over the water. Another loon calls as we step across the first swiftly-moving stream. It's freezing out now, and we're both shivering as the wind whips at our hair.
No matter, I think, it won't be cold for long.
We reach the pre-decided upon spot and set down our loads, and you rip open the bundle of sticks and scatter them across the somewhat-dry dirt. I look at the dried reeds surrounding us skeptically.
“You think these will burn?” I ask you.
You turn to me and stare at the reeds before nodding.
I rip the dead reeds out of the soft soil, tossing them into the waterlogged ground behind me, clearing a ring around the sticks. The moon begins to rise as I complete my task. You pick up the lighter fluid and raise your shoulders, asking. I nod. You pour a good amount over the sticks, letting it saturate the dry wood. I take a match out of my pocket and strike it across a rough stone nearby.
The glow of the match as it burns provides light for you to work by, quickly, so that I don't burn myself. You toss a few thicker sticks on top of the kindling and kick it together a bit.
I drop the match on the wood and we stand next to each other as it goes up in flames, flickering as the blaze leaps from branch to branch. It consumes the wood quickly and you toss a thin log on top. We look at each other and nod, deciding it's good enough.
You run back to the truck to grab the drinks and chairs. I poke the fire around a bit, setting a few more logs on top. You're back before I'm done and we unfold the camp chairs together before sitting down and talking.
We talk for a few hours, but as the night drags on, our eyes grow heavy. We're both drifting off to sleep before long.
…
The sun sets over the marshlands again, fading behind the horizon line as it does every day since the beginning and will every day until the end. The woman looks at the man, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, and his eyes mirror hers. A solitary loon calls, alone, as the breeze picks up again, signaling dusk. It's time.
The man picks up the medical kit and the woman gets the stretcher from the back of the truck. They set out across the burnt ground together, stepping carefully over charred reeds. It's colder now, but heat still emanates from some spots in the dirt. The two walk slowly across the scorched marshlands, searching, searching. They call back and forth, signaling their locations, but after hours there's still nothing to be found. The blackened reeds blend into the singed soil, and in the dark nothing can be seen.
The wind dies down near two in the morning and the man and woman stop their carefully coordinated circular paths, but there's no sound to be heard, no cries for help, nothing.
The silence is more eerie than anything else.
The loon calls once more and the two head back to the truck.
rainy-rayne
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daily 15 - 576/400 words
ides of march - character is told they will die
It's a warm day that I'm meant to die. Sunlight flits through the leaves over the sidewalk, creating swirling patterns. Dogs sit in the shade, panting, their tongues lolling out. Small children run and scream in the park with sticky dripping popsicles. I lay on a bench under a tall maple tree, watching the yellowing leaves sway in the light breeze. Back and forth, up and down, their movement never ceases. They rattle together, making a whispering noise that surrounds me.
I've known it was to be this day for ages, since I was too young to know what it really meant for me. It used to bother me. I would worry about it, let it take over my thoughts and flood my eyesight.
Who wants to know when they'll die?
Who wants to think about the upcoming date through every activity, to feel it pushing on the back of their mind with each thought?
Who wants their life overtaken by their foretold death?
I used to just sit on my bed, staring at the closed blinds. The sun would slip in through the cracks, lighting up slits across my floor. I'd be cross-legged in a ratty old t-shirt on my twisted covers, memorizing every detail of the wooden slats of the blinds, trying not to think ahead.
It paralyzed me more and more the closer I got to today. Some days would be worse; I wouldn't even sit up from my spot in bed. Some days I'd have class and I'd have to go, but the second I came home I'd go straight back to under my covers. Some days I'd have a good day and I'd go out with friends.
I'd still rather not have known, not have been told, but I've come to peace with it. Most days are good days now. I sometimes would get a sudden wash of a feeling of grief for what happened yet flit over me, darkening my vision momentarily, but it's not happened in a while.
It's funny, really. The closer I got to my death, the happier I was.
I didn't want to die, no, but now that it's right around the corner, I'm welcoming it with open arms. I had a good run, I guess. I've gone over my memories multiple times so that I wouldn't have to today, but that's all I'm doing now. Sitting, staring up at the leaves, thinking.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear an ambulance siren and I idly wonder if I'll be in that same vehicle soon.
I don't know how I'm meant to die, I was never told that part.
I just hope it'll be painless.
Hours pass as I sit on the bench and day fades to night, the busy sidewalk calms down, and I get up and walk home.
Everything's quiet in my room. I've cleaned it up, tidied everything, made it easy to clear out as I'm sure it will be once I'm gone. I sit on my bed lightly, careful to not wrinkle the neat cover.
I'm ready, I think, as the clock hand ticks closer to midnight.
The minute hand is slow but steady, assuring me as I wait.
Somewhere in the distance, bells chime a low sound. I count them.
Twelve.
The realization hits me like a truck and I sit up straight from my half-asleep position.
It's the next day. 12:01 am, my clock reads.
And I'm still here.
ides of march - character is told they will die
It's a warm day that I'm meant to die. Sunlight flits through the leaves over the sidewalk, creating swirling patterns. Dogs sit in the shade, panting, their tongues lolling out. Small children run and scream in the park with sticky dripping popsicles. I lay on a bench under a tall maple tree, watching the yellowing leaves sway in the light breeze. Back and forth, up and down, their movement never ceases. They rattle together, making a whispering noise that surrounds me.
I've known it was to be this day for ages, since I was too young to know what it really meant for me. It used to bother me. I would worry about it, let it take over my thoughts and flood my eyesight.
Who wants to know when they'll die?
Who wants to think about the upcoming date through every activity, to feel it pushing on the back of their mind with each thought?
Who wants their life overtaken by their foretold death?
I used to just sit on my bed, staring at the closed blinds. The sun would slip in through the cracks, lighting up slits across my floor. I'd be cross-legged in a ratty old t-shirt on my twisted covers, memorizing every detail of the wooden slats of the blinds, trying not to think ahead.
It paralyzed me more and more the closer I got to today. Some days would be worse; I wouldn't even sit up from my spot in bed. Some days I'd have class and I'd have to go, but the second I came home I'd go straight back to under my covers. Some days I'd have a good day and I'd go out with friends.
I'd still rather not have known, not have been told, but I've come to peace with it. Most days are good days now. I sometimes would get a sudden wash of a feeling of grief for what happened yet flit over me, darkening my vision momentarily, but it's not happened in a while.
It's funny, really. The closer I got to my death, the happier I was.
I didn't want to die, no, but now that it's right around the corner, I'm welcoming it with open arms. I had a good run, I guess. I've gone over my memories multiple times so that I wouldn't have to today, but that's all I'm doing now. Sitting, staring up at the leaves, thinking.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear an ambulance siren and I idly wonder if I'll be in that same vehicle soon.
I don't know how I'm meant to die, I was never told that part.
I just hope it'll be painless.
Hours pass as I sit on the bench and day fades to night, the busy sidewalk calms down, and I get up and walk home.
Everything's quiet in my room. I've cleaned it up, tidied everything, made it easy to clear out as I'm sure it will be once I'm gone. I sit on my bed lightly, careful to not wrinkle the neat cover.
I'm ready, I think, as the clock hand ticks closer to midnight.
The minute hand is slow but steady, assuring me as I wait.
Somewhere in the distance, bells chime a low sound. I count them.
Twelve.
The realization hits me like a truck and I sit up straight from my half-asleep position.
It's the next day. 12:01 am, my clock reads.
And I'm still here.
rainy-rayne
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daily 16 - 371/300 words
day in the life of another swc-er
The sun shines in through the curtains as I get ready for the day, making my bed and changing as fast as I can. I do my makeup and brush my teeth and hair quickly, and then I pour myself a bowl of cereal and take it back to my room. I have exactly forty-three minutes to write and I plan to make good use of them.
It takes about half that to finish my daily and I submit it, then I scroll through the comments in my cabin for a few minutes before continuing on to part two of the weekly. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I churn out word after word. My alarm goes off and I reluctantly save my work, close my laptop, and head off to school.
I don't have any extra time to write during my first two classes, but during tutorial I continue working on the weekly. I don't write at lunch (I've gotta eat and talk with my friends at least a little bit during sessions!) but the second the bell rings to let us out of our last periods, I speed walk to a bench and pull out my laptop. I finish the second part of the weekly as I wait for my dad to come pick me up, and then I continue writing in the car.
At home, I complete my homework quickly, glad to have not been assigned much today, and then keep writing until dinner. We have lasagna and for desert my mom bought mangoes at the store in celebration of my cabin being in the top five. We watch a movie - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, my brother's choice, but I'm happy to just watch David Tennant playing one of the characters - and I go up to my room again to finish writing a little more before I have to get ready for bed. I somehow managed to finish the entire weekly and I submit that, then shower and brush my teeth.
As I lay in my bed, staring at my dark ceiling, I think about the new daily that I'll have to complete tomorrow. I've plotted out the whole thing before I fall asleep.
day in the life of another swc-er
The sun shines in through the curtains as I get ready for the day, making my bed and changing as fast as I can. I do my makeup and brush my teeth and hair quickly, and then I pour myself a bowl of cereal and take it back to my room. I have exactly forty-three minutes to write and I plan to make good use of them.
It takes about half that to finish my daily and I submit it, then I scroll through the comments in my cabin for a few minutes before continuing on to part two of the weekly. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I churn out word after word. My alarm goes off and I reluctantly save my work, close my laptop, and head off to school.
I don't have any extra time to write during my first two classes, but during tutorial I continue working on the weekly. I don't write at lunch (I've gotta eat and talk with my friends at least a little bit during sessions!) but the second the bell rings to let us out of our last periods, I speed walk to a bench and pull out my laptop. I finish the second part of the weekly as I wait for my dad to come pick me up, and then I continue writing in the car.
At home, I complete my homework quickly, glad to have not been assigned much today, and then keep writing until dinner. We have lasagna and for desert my mom bought mangoes at the store in celebration of my cabin being in the top five. We watch a movie - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, my brother's choice, but I'm happy to just watch David Tennant playing one of the characters - and I go up to my room again to finish writing a little more before I have to get ready for bed. I somehow managed to finish the entire weekly and I submit that, then shower and brush my teeth.
As I lay in my bed, staring at my dark ceiling, I think about the new daily that I'll have to complete tomorrow. I've plotted out the whole thing before I fall asleep.
rainy-rayne
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daily 17 - 392/300 words
hozier lyrics
song: who we are
Dark clouds covered the night sky, threatening a downpour of rain. The wind picked up and ruffled our hair as we huddled under the thorned rose thicket, and we subconsciously leaned closer to each other to keep our warmth, cowering away from the sharp intertwined branches above our heads.
As the first raindrops fell, you sighed and turned to me, holding the match in your outstretched hand. I nodded and you struck it against the rough pebbles under our feet, and we watched as it flickered, the solitary point of light in our darkest night. It sputtered out suddenly as a droplet hit the tip and we were plunged back into cold shadow.
Dawn broke behind dark clouds and we left the thicket, not looking back, but my heart still tore in two as we crossed under the barbed wire fence and I held back shuddering sobs as we kept on. The place I'd grown up in, lived my entire life in, made memories, friends, and lost everything in, was physically behind me now, but its presence only grew in my mind, pressing down on my heart as I stared down at my ever-moving feet blankly. I came to a stop as a tear silently slipped down my cheek, but you nudged me along in front of you and I took a deep breath and raised my head.
The forest blurred into a haze of dark colors as we continued on and I let my mind slip back into my body, not daring to think for fear that I'd let everything out. You held a steadying hand on my shoulder as we slipped through ancient glades and climbed over weathered boulders.
What were we leaving for? What had we gained? Surely we'd be captured again, sent back, sent to a worse fate. There was nothing for us back there, and certainly nothing out here. We'd both lost our minds working and nearly lost our lives because of that, but maybe that was a better ending than what we were doing now.
Through everything, we'd not just lost our minds, we'd lost our selves. Now, on the trail away, we would have to find them again, but it hurt, it hurt worse than anything, and as we stopped again as the sky darkened, I wondered if it really was worth it.
hozier lyrics
song: who we are
Dark clouds covered the night sky, threatening a downpour of rain. The wind picked up and ruffled our hair as we huddled under the thorned rose thicket, and we subconsciously leaned closer to each other to keep our warmth, cowering away from the sharp intertwined branches above our heads.
As the first raindrops fell, you sighed and turned to me, holding the match in your outstretched hand. I nodded and you struck it against the rough pebbles under our feet, and we watched as it flickered, the solitary point of light in our darkest night. It sputtered out suddenly as a droplet hit the tip and we were plunged back into cold shadow.
Dawn broke behind dark clouds and we left the thicket, not looking back, but my heart still tore in two as we crossed under the barbed wire fence and I held back shuddering sobs as we kept on. The place I'd grown up in, lived my entire life in, made memories, friends, and lost everything in, was physically behind me now, but its presence only grew in my mind, pressing down on my heart as I stared down at my ever-moving feet blankly. I came to a stop as a tear silently slipped down my cheek, but you nudged me along in front of you and I took a deep breath and raised my head.
The forest blurred into a haze of dark colors as we continued on and I let my mind slip back into my body, not daring to think for fear that I'd let everything out. You held a steadying hand on my shoulder as we slipped through ancient glades and climbed over weathered boulders.
What were we leaving for? What had we gained? Surely we'd be captured again, sent back, sent to a worse fate. There was nothing for us back there, and certainly nothing out here. We'd both lost our minds working and nearly lost our lives because of that, but maybe that was a better ending than what we were doing now.
Through everything, we'd not just lost our minds, we'd lost our selves. Now, on the trail away, we would have to find them again, but it hurt, it hurt worse than anything, and as we stopped again as the sky darkened, I wondered if it really was worth it.
rainy-rayne
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WEEKLY 2 - 1446/1200
extension https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/914066871/#comments-391756663
P1 - FLOWER SYMBOLISM (385/300)
fern (concealed love)
bluebell (constancy)
+ more that'll be included later
It's been a year since you've disappeared, and I'm afraid to question after you, so I'm writing this letter to you in the hopes that it'll somehow find its way to wherever you've gone. It's been quiet here, as quiet as it can be in a place like this, but my father's plans are continuing as if what you'd done hadn't changed anything. I can't do anything to stop him, not without you here, but-
The quill in Alaric's hand stilled as he stared down blankly at the cursive words on the parchment. He had nothing more to write down, though just a minute ago his mind had been overflowing with the words he'd wished he'd been able to say before Orvyn was taken. He crumpled up the parchment and pushed it to the far edge of his writing-desk, then pushed his fists into his eyes.
Orvyn, Orvyn, why did you have to get caught?
The sun set outside the tall glass windows as Alaric lay face-down on his bed, breathing with slow and controlled breaths. He couldn't cry again, he'd finished that months ago, but he still missed Orvyn more than anything. He couldn't even continue Orvyn's work, not without him, Alaric didn't have the confidence for that anymore.
He sat up on the side of his bed and stared past the fern and bluebell bouquet on the table beside his bed out the window at the quickly-darkening land. Lights flickered down in the servant's quarters, signals of life going on as usual, even if it felt like everything had stopped for him that evening. As he watched the lanterns glinting in the trees, sending golden patterns of light across the horse stables, he made up his mind to go out and search, search wherever he could for Orvyn.
He'd had an idea of where they took Orvyn hovering somewhere around the back of his mind ever since that day, but he'd never tried to go looking for fear that he would be questioned and sent to the same place. Now, though, in the faded light of dusk, he was awash with a new sense of resolve, and with a fierce look in his hazel eyes, he swept his shaggy mouse-brown hair up into a short ponytail like how the commoners wore.
P2 - CONSTELLATION STORY (459/300)
myth of orion and scorpius
Artemis's hand stills over her quiver, waiting for the deer to appear again from its hiding spot behind a slender willow tree. The tip of its antler pokes out and she silently draws an arrow, slotting it into the bow effortlessly. The deer's head peers out from behind the tree, its nose quivering, and with one fluid motion, Artemis draws the bow back and fires it. The arrow hits the deer square between the eyes and it falls immediately, unmoving. Her lips curve up in a soft smile as crouches next to it, surveying her work. A perfect shot. She would have to tell Orion when she saw him that evening.
As Helios makes his way across the sky, Artemis begins her journey to her love, expecting to find him hunting just as he always does in the dusk. However, as she passes by a raven, it speaks to her, and she realizes it is a messenger of her brother Apollo.
“Sister, you must not go any farther tonight. Orion is unwell.”
Knowing Apollo's dislike of Orion, Artemis ignores the raven and walks on, speeding up her pace. She expects to find trouble.
The raven appears again, directly in front of her path this time.
“Sister, stop. You must not go to Orion.”
Artemis ignores the raven once more, breaking into a run. The raven does not follow her as she goes on.
It doesn't take her long to reach Orion now, and when she does she is immediately filled with a great anger for Apollo. Orion is facing off against a giant scorpion, whose pinchers click menacingly and whose poisonous tail curls, ready to strike. Sweat drips down his brow as he holds his sword tightly. Artemis knows the sword won't do anything against this monster, and she thinks Orion knows this too.
Her breath catches as the giant scorpion scuttles closer to him, and she draws from her quiver, intending to shoot it with one of her divine arrows - maybe those will be able to harm it. She slots the arrow into the bow the moment the scorpion lunges, and she fires quickly with no time to perfectly aim. She can only hope that it has hit the scorpion.
The scorpion and the man fall from each other, but the scorpion still stands upright. Orion does not move from his place on the ground. Artemis cries out as she rushes towards him, but Apollo appears with his raven in front of Orion and stops her.
“Do not worry, sister, the scorpion will die, too. Zeus is coming.”
The next few hours pass by in a blur, but Zeus decides that both Orion and the scorpion, Scorpius, should be put into the heavens as constellations for their deeds.
P3 - AESTHETIC SET (5/5 images)
made for part one
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/984402083/
P4 - SWC FANFICTION (602/600)
The sun rises bright over the cabins of Scratch Writing Camp as campers awake to check the dailies, eat breakfast, hang out with friends from their own and other cabins, and write. To everyone's surprise (and happiness!), cabin wars have come in the night, leaving a few cabins with wars to complete first thing in the morning. You wonder how early some of those people must have had to get up to send wars to other cabins - curfew was imposed at 11:59 and you weren't supposed to just leave your cabin the second it officially became morning (sleep > swc, they said, and that was the way they'd thought could impose that rule), so they would have to have only gotten a few hours of sleep.
You step into the main cabin to get a plate of scrambled eggs and you're greeted by an assault on your eyes - campers from some of the cabins are unfurling banners that claim their cabin is the best on the writing side of the cabin. Every cabin's colors looks great on their own banner, but paired with all of the others, there's just way too many patterns and hues to make sense. A few people are yelling at each other, but it's friendly fire, and the fake threats are mixed with jokes and puns.
Not wanting to interfere in the competitive activities, you turn towards the community half of the cabin, the part where campers from every cabin can hang out together. You head towards the breakfast line and load your tray high with eggs, bacon, sliced fruit (no mangoes today unfortunately, the shipment that came in a few days ago has already been eaten!), and a glass of chamomile-periwinkle tea, and then you go to a group of a few of your friends at one of the tables.
“Hey there!” one of them greets you, a smile wide across her face. “How has your cabin been faring in this sea of turmoil?”
You shake your head, grinning. “We've been doing pretty good, I guess. Not sure about the sea of turmoil bit. It's pretty quiet; we've completed our first war thanks to some cabin members who pulled an all-nighter, and our shield is up for about an hour still.”
She nods and turns to one for your other friends, motioning for them to speak. "Lucky you. I was just telling everyone how our cabin's practically being targeted,“ they say, with dramatic hand gestures. ”I couldn't sleep at all, I had to write. We've had 3 wars sent in already, and we're still working on one, I think.“
”When's your shield end? I'll pop in and give you a fourth, “ you say, laughing. They give a mock groan. ”Anyway, I've gotta eat quick; we're sure to have another war soon."
You finish your food quickly and stop by the other side of the room where absolute chaos is beginning to unfold to check the rankings. Your cabin is still in its place, good.
You return to your cabin after a quick word war with an enemy (which you unfortunately lost, but hey, at least it still counts towards your war!), and you add the words from that to the word counter hanging on the wall in your spacious cabin. Everyone welcomes you back and a few people leave to get breakfast once you assure them that you'll continue to write in their place. You grab your laptop and sit on the community sofa with a leader and another cabin member, where you decide you'll write for the next few hours before taking a break.
extension https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/914066871/#comments-391756663
P1 - FLOWER SYMBOLISM (385/300)
fern (concealed love)
bluebell (constancy)
+ more that'll be included later
It's been a year since you've disappeared, and I'm afraid to question after you, so I'm writing this letter to you in the hopes that it'll somehow find its way to wherever you've gone. It's been quiet here, as quiet as it can be in a place like this, but my father's plans are continuing as if what you'd done hadn't changed anything. I can't do anything to stop him, not without you here, but-
The quill in Alaric's hand stilled as he stared down blankly at the cursive words on the parchment. He had nothing more to write down, though just a minute ago his mind had been overflowing with the words he'd wished he'd been able to say before Orvyn was taken. He crumpled up the parchment and pushed it to the far edge of his writing-desk, then pushed his fists into his eyes.
Orvyn, Orvyn, why did you have to get caught?
The sun set outside the tall glass windows as Alaric lay face-down on his bed, breathing with slow and controlled breaths. He couldn't cry again, he'd finished that months ago, but he still missed Orvyn more than anything. He couldn't even continue Orvyn's work, not without him, Alaric didn't have the confidence for that anymore.
He sat up on the side of his bed and stared past the fern and bluebell bouquet on the table beside his bed out the window at the quickly-darkening land. Lights flickered down in the servant's quarters, signals of life going on as usual, even if it felt like everything had stopped for him that evening. As he watched the lanterns glinting in the trees, sending golden patterns of light across the horse stables, he made up his mind to go out and search, search wherever he could for Orvyn.
He'd had an idea of where they took Orvyn hovering somewhere around the back of his mind ever since that day, but he'd never tried to go looking for fear that he would be questioned and sent to the same place. Now, though, in the faded light of dusk, he was awash with a new sense of resolve, and with a fierce look in his hazel eyes, he swept his shaggy mouse-brown hair up into a short ponytail like how the commoners wore.
P2 - CONSTELLATION STORY (459/300)
myth of orion and scorpius
Artemis's hand stills over her quiver, waiting for the deer to appear again from its hiding spot behind a slender willow tree. The tip of its antler pokes out and she silently draws an arrow, slotting it into the bow effortlessly. The deer's head peers out from behind the tree, its nose quivering, and with one fluid motion, Artemis draws the bow back and fires it. The arrow hits the deer square between the eyes and it falls immediately, unmoving. Her lips curve up in a soft smile as crouches next to it, surveying her work. A perfect shot. She would have to tell Orion when she saw him that evening.
As Helios makes his way across the sky, Artemis begins her journey to her love, expecting to find him hunting just as he always does in the dusk. However, as she passes by a raven, it speaks to her, and she realizes it is a messenger of her brother Apollo.
“Sister, you must not go any farther tonight. Orion is unwell.”
Knowing Apollo's dislike of Orion, Artemis ignores the raven and walks on, speeding up her pace. She expects to find trouble.
The raven appears again, directly in front of her path this time.
“Sister, stop. You must not go to Orion.”
Artemis ignores the raven once more, breaking into a run. The raven does not follow her as she goes on.
It doesn't take her long to reach Orion now, and when she does she is immediately filled with a great anger for Apollo. Orion is facing off against a giant scorpion, whose pinchers click menacingly and whose poisonous tail curls, ready to strike. Sweat drips down his brow as he holds his sword tightly. Artemis knows the sword won't do anything against this monster, and she thinks Orion knows this too.
Her breath catches as the giant scorpion scuttles closer to him, and she draws from her quiver, intending to shoot it with one of her divine arrows - maybe those will be able to harm it. She slots the arrow into the bow the moment the scorpion lunges, and she fires quickly with no time to perfectly aim. She can only hope that it has hit the scorpion.
The scorpion and the man fall from each other, but the scorpion still stands upright. Orion does not move from his place on the ground. Artemis cries out as she rushes towards him, but Apollo appears with his raven in front of Orion and stops her.
“Do not worry, sister, the scorpion will die, too. Zeus is coming.”
The next few hours pass by in a blur, but Zeus decides that both Orion and the scorpion, Scorpius, should be put into the heavens as constellations for their deeds.
P3 - AESTHETIC SET (5/5 images)
made for part one
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/984402083/
P4 - SWC FANFICTION (602/600)
The sun rises bright over the cabins of Scratch Writing Camp as campers awake to check the dailies, eat breakfast, hang out with friends from their own and other cabins, and write. To everyone's surprise (and happiness!), cabin wars have come in the night, leaving a few cabins with wars to complete first thing in the morning. You wonder how early some of those people must have had to get up to send wars to other cabins - curfew was imposed at 11:59 and you weren't supposed to just leave your cabin the second it officially became morning (sleep > swc, they said, and that was the way they'd thought could impose that rule), so they would have to have only gotten a few hours of sleep.
You step into the main cabin to get a plate of scrambled eggs and you're greeted by an assault on your eyes - campers from some of the cabins are unfurling banners that claim their cabin is the best on the writing side of the cabin. Every cabin's colors looks great on their own banner, but paired with all of the others, there's just way too many patterns and hues to make sense. A few people are yelling at each other, but it's friendly fire, and the fake threats are mixed with jokes and puns.
Not wanting to interfere in the competitive activities, you turn towards the community half of the cabin, the part where campers from every cabin can hang out together. You head towards the breakfast line and load your tray high with eggs, bacon, sliced fruit (no mangoes today unfortunately, the shipment that came in a few days ago has already been eaten!), and a glass of chamomile-periwinkle tea, and then you go to a group of a few of your friends at one of the tables.
“Hey there!” one of them greets you, a smile wide across her face. “How has your cabin been faring in this sea of turmoil?”
You shake your head, grinning. “We've been doing pretty good, I guess. Not sure about the sea of turmoil bit. It's pretty quiet; we've completed our first war thanks to some cabin members who pulled an all-nighter, and our shield is up for about an hour still.”
She nods and turns to one for your other friends, motioning for them to speak. "Lucky you. I was just telling everyone how our cabin's practically being targeted,“ they say, with dramatic hand gestures. ”I couldn't sleep at all, I had to write. We've had 3 wars sent in already, and we're still working on one, I think.“
”When's your shield end? I'll pop in and give you a fourth, “ you say, laughing. They give a mock groan. ”Anyway, I've gotta eat quick; we're sure to have another war soon."
You finish your food quickly and stop by the other side of the room where absolute chaos is beginning to unfold to check the rankings. Your cabin is still in its place, good.
You return to your cabin after a quick word war with an enemy (which you unfortunately lost, but hey, at least it still counts towards your war!), and you add the words from that to the word counter hanging on the wall in your spacious cabin. Everyone welcomes you back and a few people leave to get breakfast once you assure them that you'll continue to write in their place. You grab your laptop and sit on the community sofa with a leader and another cabin member, where you decide you'll write for the next few hours before taking a break.
rainy-rayne
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daily 19 - 456/400 words
atmosphere from list of synonyms
1. loyal / devoted
2. unaggressive / unassertive
3. regretful / rueful
1. gloomy / dismal
2. scary / nerve-wracking
3. dangerous / menacing
An eerie silence fills the halls as Alaric strides through them, his boots making a clacking sound against the stone floor that breaks the hush. Darkness settles in his wake, blanketing the dim corridors in her deep shadow. In Alaric's hands are a rusty dagger and small lantern, his sole form of protection and candle to light his way. The ceilings tower over his head, stretching up in tall columns that arch together.
Alaric reaches an intersecting hall and pauses momentarily, considering the paths laid out ahead of him. Ahead of him is a straight hall that goes on for as far as the eye can see in the dim light. To his left, a locked door, and to his right, a short corridor that ends abruptly. He's not entirely sure which way to go now, his knowledge of the dungeons ends here, but his feet take him down the hall on his right.
He stops in front of the blank wall and raises the lantern to inspect the bricks. They're solid, as far as he can tell, and he doesn't want to risk breaking a wrist or ankle trying to brute-force his way through them. He turns and leans against them, letting the hand with the dagger clutched tightly in it fall limp.
He knows he can't give up here, not when he must be close, but he really has no idea what he's supposed to do now - and maybe this doubtfulness is his Achilles' heel, it's wounded him many a time before. Still, he lets it overtake his thoughts, more comfortable in sliding down the wall and retreating into his mind than to attempt to find his way in these dreary halls.
A loud sound breaks into his self-deprecating musing and he jerks up, his spine straight and eyes wide as he listens. The sound resonates once more as a clanging cacophony and he extinguishes his lantern with a quick puff of air. He grips the rusty dagger tighter, his short nails digging into the palm of his hand, and cowers into the corner of the hall, shaking slightly.
The locked door across from him shudders in a repetitive pattern, and suddenly it flies open and soldiers pour out of it, their armour glinting dimly in the shadows. Their ranks split down the middle and each side goes down opposite sides of the main hallway. Alaric shrinks back farther into the corner and thanks his luck that he wasn't still in that corridor.
As he recoils from the soldiers, his boot kicks a pebble on the floor, which scuttles back into the deepest part of the corner. It hits a hidden latch, and suddenly Alaric is falling down, down, down into a hidden hall.
atmosphere from list of synonyms
1. loyal / devoted
2. unaggressive / unassertive
3. regretful / rueful
1. gloomy / dismal
2. scary / nerve-wracking
3. dangerous / menacing
An eerie silence fills the halls as Alaric strides through them, his boots making a clacking sound against the stone floor that breaks the hush. Darkness settles in his wake, blanketing the dim corridors in her deep shadow. In Alaric's hands are a rusty dagger and small lantern, his sole form of protection and candle to light his way. The ceilings tower over his head, stretching up in tall columns that arch together.
Alaric reaches an intersecting hall and pauses momentarily, considering the paths laid out ahead of him. Ahead of him is a straight hall that goes on for as far as the eye can see in the dim light. To his left, a locked door, and to his right, a short corridor that ends abruptly. He's not entirely sure which way to go now, his knowledge of the dungeons ends here, but his feet take him down the hall on his right.
He stops in front of the blank wall and raises the lantern to inspect the bricks. They're solid, as far as he can tell, and he doesn't want to risk breaking a wrist or ankle trying to brute-force his way through them. He turns and leans against them, letting the hand with the dagger clutched tightly in it fall limp.
He knows he can't give up here, not when he must be close, but he really has no idea what he's supposed to do now - and maybe this doubtfulness is his Achilles' heel, it's wounded him many a time before. Still, he lets it overtake his thoughts, more comfortable in sliding down the wall and retreating into his mind than to attempt to find his way in these dreary halls.
A loud sound breaks into his self-deprecating musing and he jerks up, his spine straight and eyes wide as he listens. The sound resonates once more as a clanging cacophony and he extinguishes his lantern with a quick puff of air. He grips the rusty dagger tighter, his short nails digging into the palm of his hand, and cowers into the corner of the hall, shaking slightly.
The locked door across from him shudders in a repetitive pattern, and suddenly it flies open and soldiers pour out of it, their armour glinting dimly in the shadows. Their ranks split down the middle and each side goes down opposite sides of the main hallway. Alaric shrinks back farther into the corner and thanks his luck that he wasn't still in that corridor.
As he recoils from the soldiers, his boot kicks a pebble on the floor, which scuttles back into the deepest part of the corner. It hits a hidden latch, and suddenly Alaric is falling down, down, down into a hidden hall.
rainy-rayne
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daily 20 - 608/400 words
“villain” isnt actually a villain
It's a well-known fact of life that you should keep your nose out of everyone else's business. This rule is, for the most part, applicable to every situation you might find yourself in - it's almost always your best bet to ignore what other people are doing because it doesn't affect you. However, some people seem to have not heard of this concept.
Lily was, apparently, one of these people.
She was always getting all up in my relationship with Jake, constantly asking me about where we'd been on our dates and what he'd said. I was pretty sure she didn't like him; her expression seemed to subconsciously change to one of slight disgust whenever he was around, but that just meant that she was just being annoying on purpose, which was sort of worse.
I didn't say anything, though, because I figured she would eventually just stop, but she didn't. It got worse and worse. She began to actually tell me to stop dating him.
It all escalated one day when I was hanging out with Jake during lunch. We were just talking, cracking jokes, and having a generally nice time, when Lily appeared out of nowhere with an angry look on her face. She grabbed my bag and pulled me away from him to the other side of the restaurant's outdoor seating, where she began whisper-lecturing me.
“What did I tell you about Jake?” she said in a fierce but low tone. "You've got to stay away from him!“
I groaned, upset that she'd interrupted my date. ”Well, what did I tell you about minding your business? You're always showing up at my dates and it's getting annoying!“
Her eyes narrowed and she gave a quick sigh. ”Seriously, you've got to stop dating him.“
”Why?“ I asked, crossing my arms.
”I… I don't have to explain myself, okay?“ she exclaimed, raising her voice a bit. ”Just…. don't!“
I rolled my eyes. ”Well, that's nice for you, okay? Now I'm gonna go back to my date with Jake and you're gonna stop bothering me, got it?“
She nodded, eyes still narrowed, and I walked back to Jake, apologized for the interruption, and we finished our date in (relative) peace.
A few days later, Lily came up to me again. Luckily, I wasn't with Jake this time. I braced myself for her angry words, but they didn't come.
”Look… I'm sorry for interrupting your dates, and everything, but I couldn't tell you. I'm “allowed” to now,“ she said, making air quotes. ”Jake's dating, like, three other girls too right now. None of them have any idea either.“
I dropped my bag, my eyes wide. ”What? No, he's not!“
”He is. I promise.“
I shook my head. ”No, no, that can't be right. Why couldn't you tell me, then?“
Lily sighed. ”Because Jake told me himself when I asked him about it, but he said that if I told you anything, he'd make your life living (removed).”
I didn't say anything for a moment, trying to process what Lily'd just told me. “Well… what am I supposed to do now?”
Lily smiled and picked up my bag for me. "Dump him.“
I laughed and took my bag. ”And then?“
Her face took on an uncertain expression, but she kept her smile without faltering. ”And then… date me?“
I blinked once, then twice. ”What?“
”Date me. I can tell you one thing for sure - I'll treat you a whole lot better than he ever did.“
I felt my lips beginning to curve upwards into a smile, and then a full-on grin. ”Yeah… yeah, I bet you will."
“villain” isnt actually a villain
It's a well-known fact of life that you should keep your nose out of everyone else's business. This rule is, for the most part, applicable to every situation you might find yourself in - it's almost always your best bet to ignore what other people are doing because it doesn't affect you. However, some people seem to have not heard of this concept.
Lily was, apparently, one of these people.
She was always getting all up in my relationship with Jake, constantly asking me about where we'd been on our dates and what he'd said. I was pretty sure she didn't like him; her expression seemed to subconsciously change to one of slight disgust whenever he was around, but that just meant that she was just being annoying on purpose, which was sort of worse.
I didn't say anything, though, because I figured she would eventually just stop, but she didn't. It got worse and worse. She began to actually tell me to stop dating him.
It all escalated one day when I was hanging out with Jake during lunch. We were just talking, cracking jokes, and having a generally nice time, when Lily appeared out of nowhere with an angry look on her face. She grabbed my bag and pulled me away from him to the other side of the restaurant's outdoor seating, where she began whisper-lecturing me.
“What did I tell you about Jake?” she said in a fierce but low tone. "You've got to stay away from him!“
I groaned, upset that she'd interrupted my date. ”Well, what did I tell you about minding your business? You're always showing up at my dates and it's getting annoying!“
Her eyes narrowed and she gave a quick sigh. ”Seriously, you've got to stop dating him.“
”Why?“ I asked, crossing my arms.
”I… I don't have to explain myself, okay?“ she exclaimed, raising her voice a bit. ”Just…. don't!“
I rolled my eyes. ”Well, that's nice for you, okay? Now I'm gonna go back to my date with Jake and you're gonna stop bothering me, got it?“
She nodded, eyes still narrowed, and I walked back to Jake, apologized for the interruption, and we finished our date in (relative) peace.
A few days later, Lily came up to me again. Luckily, I wasn't with Jake this time. I braced myself for her angry words, but they didn't come.
”Look… I'm sorry for interrupting your dates, and everything, but I couldn't tell you. I'm “allowed” to now,“ she said, making air quotes. ”Jake's dating, like, three other girls too right now. None of them have any idea either.“
I dropped my bag, my eyes wide. ”What? No, he's not!“
”He is. I promise.“
I shook my head. ”No, no, that can't be right. Why couldn't you tell me, then?“
Lily sighed. ”Because Jake told me himself when I asked him about it, but he said that if I told you anything, he'd make your life living (removed).”
I didn't say anything for a moment, trying to process what Lily'd just told me. “Well… what am I supposed to do now?”
Lily smiled and picked up my bag for me. "Dump him.“
I laughed and took my bag. ”And then?“
Her face took on an uncertain expression, but she kept her smile without faltering. ”And then… date me?“
I blinked once, then twice. ”What?“
”Date me. I can tell you one thing for sure - I'll treat you a whole lot better than he ever did.“
I felt my lips beginning to curve upwards into a smile, and then a full-on grin. ”Yeah… yeah, I bet you will."
rainy-rayne
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critique - 456
with @rocksalmon800
( part one https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/744918/?page=1#post-7866324 )
hey rockie! i loved your piece so much and i had a hard time finding anything to critique so sorry this is kind of short but it's seriously because your piece is so good ‘
i absolutely loved the mood you set in this piece, it comes across so well and tbh now i want to have a picnic with rosewater-cardamom cookies! you do an amazing job of characterization and i could really tell the personalities of alexus and oliver through their actions. i also love the way you do details, you put perfect ones in there and they add to the story, not distracting the reader at all. you’ve got a pretty perfect balance of details : action/dialogue!
this piece was sooo pretty and i really like your writing style! it's paced really well and just overall really nice! thanks for letting me critique
with @rocksalmon800
( part one https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/744918/?page=1#post-7866324 )
hey rockie! i loved your piece so much and i had a hard time finding anything to critique so sorry this is kind of short but it's seriously because your piece is so good ‘
i absolutely loved the mood you set in this piece, it comes across so well and tbh now i want to have a picnic with rosewater-cardamom cookies! you do an amazing job of characterization and i could really tell the personalities of alexus and oliver through their actions. i also love the way you do details, you put perfect ones in there and they add to the story, not distracting the reader at all. you’ve got a pretty perfect balance of details : action/dialogue!The forested clearing seemed to glow in the sun as the daisies carpeting the dewy forest floor waved gently in the breeze, twinkling music echoing through the willowy branches of the surrounding trees. It was magical.lovely descriptive language! your word choices are very illustrative. however, it's a bit confusing about the twinkling music bit. is music being played somewhere, or is the music made by the branches of the trees? if the second, maybe clarify that the music is really the sound of branches brushing together.
“I knew you’d love it,” Oliver said happily, adoring eyes riveted to Alexus as she flitted around the clearing like a fragile pink butterfly released from its cocoon.You can really see oliver's feelings for alexus in this bit, and it serves well as a way to introduce him to this scene. however, i feel like the simile is a bit long and sort of takes away from its original purpose in its length. i think it might work better without “fragile pink” before it; it would draw attention to the object of the simile rather than the description (it sort of feels like fragile pink is kind of forced to describe her specifically? but the simile should work without modifying the comparison object) i hope that made sense i have trouble trying to explain my thoughts sometimes ^^"
“It’s beautiful,” Alexus responded, voice lilting slightly as she turned towards him, noting the way his tousled hair fell behind his ears and how his brown eyes gleamed like melted chocolate.this is a nice line but comparing features to food items is used quite a bit. the simile might be stronger if a different object. maybe brass/bronze, tourmaline garnet or jasper (semi-precious gemstones), pennies? not really necessary but i just think it might make it a bit more effective.
Alexus bit into a cookie and sighed in contentment, looking over at Oliver as he arranged the daisy petals scattering the ground into the shape of a heart, his cheeks pinking when he noticed her looking. “You know, Ollie, being with you… it’s really nice.”the dialogue here is nice but it seems a little stilted or unnatural. maybe it's just where i'm from but “you know” isn't really used much in casual conversation in this manner. maybe change the sentence around a bit and see if anything works better? also the “gee, thanks” seems a bit outdated, unless this piece is set a while back.
Oliver grinned shyly. “Gee, thanks, Alex… it’s great hanging out with you too.”
They stayed there, together, under the setting sun, until the stars glittered in the night sky and each fell asleep, dreaming of the other, dreaming of the love story neither could have ever imagined.this is a really pretty sentence but it runs on a bit long. maybe break up the commas with a dash instead, like in the last bit you could try “dreaming of the other - dreaming of the love story”?
this piece was sooo pretty and i really like your writing style! it's paced really well and just overall really nice! thanks for letting me critique
rainy-rayne
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Sight (and Lack Thereof)
writing comp entry - 446
It was dark in the cave. It always was.
Chained to the wall behind us, only able to stare at the dark and jagged stone wall in front of us, our vision - and minds - were limited to what was given there. We were never meant to see anything else.
Shadows flitted over the top of the wall occasionally, giving us glimpses of the world behind us, the world we were never supposed to know.
All the things that could be seen in the passing shadows had been given names, long ago, by other prisoners. They were now forgotten and their remains faded to dust, but they lived on through these monikers. The memories had long since disintegrated, just as ours would in time. Still, we passed down the names to each new generation, along with stories of what could be out there, sitting just behind us.
It was lonely at times, even surrounded by others in the same predicament. We'd talked to every other person there countless times over long years, and having had the same experiences since we could remember, there wasn't much to bring up, so there was no longer any reason to make idle conversation with others.
Our attempts to escape were never acted upon, and the frequency with which they were thought up and planned was decreasing as we reminded each other how there was no way out of this place. Still, no one really wanted to escape. This was all we knew, and all we would know for the rest of our lives, from shortly after birth to shortly after death - from the time we were left there to the time we were removed.
Every day, we all watched the cave wall, waiting for a shadow to pass across. We'd name the things we saw, as much as we could, with our own names. We never knew what some of the shapes entailed, and for those ones we gave the same name, regardless of shape - a name vaguely meaning unknown. Naming each shadow accurately with the names we'd made was like a game for us, our source of entertainment, and we never tired of it.
It would never last forever, though.
I was too curious, they told me.
I wanted to know what made those shadows, what sorts of things formed the shapes we watched for eternity.
So, one day, I left.
It wasn't so hard as had been thought, really. The chains with which we were kept were old and weak, and while they took my full strength to break, they shattered in the end.
And I got up.
And I turned around.
And I saw.
writing comp entry - 446
It was dark in the cave. It always was.
Chained to the wall behind us, only able to stare at the dark and jagged stone wall in front of us, our vision - and minds - were limited to what was given there. We were never meant to see anything else.
Shadows flitted over the top of the wall occasionally, giving us glimpses of the world behind us, the world we were never supposed to know.
All the things that could be seen in the passing shadows had been given names, long ago, by other prisoners. They were now forgotten and their remains faded to dust, but they lived on through these monikers. The memories had long since disintegrated, just as ours would in time. Still, we passed down the names to each new generation, along with stories of what could be out there, sitting just behind us.
It was lonely at times, even surrounded by others in the same predicament. We'd talked to every other person there countless times over long years, and having had the same experiences since we could remember, there wasn't much to bring up, so there was no longer any reason to make idle conversation with others.
Our attempts to escape were never acted upon, and the frequency with which they were thought up and planned was decreasing as we reminded each other how there was no way out of this place. Still, no one really wanted to escape. This was all we knew, and all we would know for the rest of our lives, from shortly after birth to shortly after death - from the time we were left there to the time we were removed.
Every day, we all watched the cave wall, waiting for a shadow to pass across. We'd name the things we saw, as much as we could, with our own names. We never knew what some of the shapes entailed, and for those ones we gave the same name, regardless of shape - a name vaguely meaning unknown. Naming each shadow accurately with the names we'd made was like a game for us, our source of entertainment, and we never tired of it.
It would never last forever, though.
I was too curious, they told me.
I wanted to know what made those shadows, what sorts of things formed the shapes we watched for eternity.
So, one day, I left.
It wasn't so hard as had been thought, really. The chains with which we were kept were old and weak, and while they took my full strength to break, they shattered in the end.
And I got up.
And I turned around.
And I saw.
rainy-rayne
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daily 22 - 313/250 words
pathetic fallacies
The day she died, I was sitting at the stream at the mountain property. I think I must have been skipping rocks at the moment it happened. I would have picked up a smooth black stone from the pebbly banks, and as rain gently wept down on the slow-moving water, I would have tossed the pebble across. It would have sunk under after a moment of struggling to stay atop the water, doomed to plummet under the surface.
I was doomed to fall under, too, once he was gone. It took months for me to be able to get up in the morning and think about the day ahead instead of how much I missed her. I don't think I'll ever move on, not with how it happened, not with how she was to me. She was the Eros to my Psyche, the Eurydice to my Orpheus. I loved her, loved her so much, loved her so much that the though of being separated from her would have torn my heart in two-
and it didn't, not really,
rather, my heart was shattered into minute shards, crushed into multitudinous flakes, splintered into innumerable slivers, ripped into infinitesimal scraps.
As I sat in the rain then, I didn't know what'd happened, but as raindrops dampened my clothes and waterlogged my hair, I felt as though I'd just passed from one part of life onto another.
I guess I was right about that. As much as I long to go back, I know I can't, and I think maybe it's better that way.
After all, maybe I was too focused on her, maybe my sight was set on her and her alone.
Sometimes, as the sun rays smile down on me in the early morning, I feel hope, hope for something.
I'm not sure what it is,
but I'm sure it's going to be good.
pathetic fallacies
The day she died, I was sitting at the stream at the mountain property. I think I must have been skipping rocks at the moment it happened. I would have picked up a smooth black stone from the pebbly banks, and as rain gently wept down on the slow-moving water, I would have tossed the pebble across. It would have sunk under after a moment of struggling to stay atop the water, doomed to plummet under the surface.
I was doomed to fall under, too, once he was gone. It took months for me to be able to get up in the morning and think about the day ahead instead of how much I missed her. I don't think I'll ever move on, not with how it happened, not with how she was to me. She was the Eros to my Psyche, the Eurydice to my Orpheus. I loved her, loved her so much, loved her so much that the though of being separated from her would have torn my heart in two-
and it didn't, not really,
rather, my heart was shattered into minute shards, crushed into multitudinous flakes, splintered into innumerable slivers, ripped into infinitesimal scraps.
As I sat in the rain then, I didn't know what'd happened, but as raindrops dampened my clothes and waterlogged my hair, I felt as though I'd just passed from one part of life onto another.
I guess I was right about that. As much as I long to go back, I know I can't, and I think maybe it's better that way.
After all, maybe I was too focused on her, maybe my sight was set on her and her alone.
Sometimes, as the sun rays smile down on me in the early morning, I feel hope, hope for something.
I'm not sure what it is,
but I'm sure it's going to be good.
rainy-rayne
loading
critique - 602
with @Scrollreader023
( part one https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/748557/?page=1#post-7870814 )
Woah ok so right off the bat, Lucius is such a cool character! I did a bunch of research on alexithymia for this (I kind of went down a rabbit hole because I've discovered I might actually have it? oops), and it appears that there's two types, affective (difficulty experiencing feelings) and cognitive (difficulty identifying feelings). I'm assuming he has the former because of the line,
One of the symptoms of alexithymia is an externally oriented thinking style (eot), meaning that the person with eot thinks mainly in terms of reactions to external stimuli - or, they're focused on external events, not internal. For the most part, Lucius shows this, but in a few sections, his thoughts turn internal -
That's pretty much all I have, but I'll leave you with one extra thought - Lucius is not, at least in this example, particularly likeable. I like him as a character; he's very interesting to read, but I don't like his character itself (personality-wise, I mean). If he is the main character in your world, and he is meant to be likeable, then you might want to add him doing positive actions, rather than just killing and asking everyone to submit. However, as this is just a short excerpt from what seems to be a much longer story, so it may be that he is much more likeable in other situations. Overall, though, he seems to be a really nice character and you've done a lovely job in fleshing him out! He's a very creative sort of character (and I mean that in a good way!) Thanks for letting me critique!!
with @Scrollreader023
( part one https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/748557/?page=1#post-7870814 )
Woah ok so right off the bat, Lucius is such a cool character! I did a bunch of research on alexithymia for this (I kind of went down a rabbit hole because I've discovered I might actually have it? oops), and it appears that there's two types, affective (difficulty experiencing feelings) and cognitive (difficulty identifying feelings). I'm assuming he has the former because of the line,
(i)t was hard for him to feel emotionso I'll be talking about alexithymia in terms of this type, not cognitive.
One of the symptoms of alexithymia is an externally oriented thinking style (eot), meaning that the person with eot thinks mainly in terms of reactions to external stimuli - or, they're focused on external events, not internal. For the most part, Lucius shows this, but in a few sections, his thoughts turn internal -
Had it been the White Dragon or the Snow Dragon? He couldn't remember. It was only in the top twenty most powerful dragons ever. He had killed higher ranked.This information is used to further develop his person as strong and, well, really really good at killing dragons, but it's presented in a way that's contrary to his alexithymia (although the extent to which eot is the main thinking style in alexithymic people differs, but since it's stated that it's hard for him to feel any emotions, I'm assuming that he has dominant eot to go along with the more severe alexithymia). In order to portray the symptoms that are characteristics of his condition and preserve this information, you may want to mix around where the information is said - instead of having as a side-thought sort of bit in his thoughts (which would work super well in someone without eot!!), maybe try putting it as more of a fact in the piece, like how you wrote,
He could never find a worthy opponent to fight, beating everyone who tried. Even his master, previously the 6th strongest swordsman in Aurumiyrn, couldn't match Lucius's raw talent.This quote doesn't appear directly in his thoughts (although it could be interpreted as such), instead being more of a statement that the reader gets to know.
He looked down. It was hard for him to feel emotion, but a stab of pity went through him. Such a marvelous creature, felled by a mere human.If he has only affective alexithymia and doesn't show signs of the cognitive type, then these lines are fine, but it's unlikely that someone with cognitive alexithymia would be able to identify an emotion (especially pity, which is a pretty complicated emotion) so quickly, and especially when it's a stab of emotion (quick flash of a feeling) and not something lasting longer. Again, if he doesn't have any cognitive alexithymia, then this is totally fine!
That's pretty much all I have, but I'll leave you with one extra thought - Lucius is not, at least in this example, particularly likeable. I like him as a character; he's very interesting to read, but I don't like his character itself (personality-wise, I mean). If he is the main character in your world, and he is meant to be likeable, then you might want to add him doing positive actions, rather than just killing and asking everyone to submit. However, as this is just a short excerpt from what seems to be a much longer story, so it may be that he is much more likeable in other situations. Overall, though, he seems to be a really nice character and you've done a lovely job in fleshing him out! He's a very creative sort of character
(and I mean that in a good way!) Thanks for letting me critique!!
rainy-rayne
loading
daily 24 - 455/400 words
hobbit hole
As the sun shines brightly overhead, I begin the trek back to my hobbit-hole with an armload of freshly-baked bread and a basket of tangy blackberries. The long grass surrounding the hill my hole's built into the side of waves gently in the breeze, rippling in smooth patterns as far as the eye can see.
I enter my hole, pulling the circular wooden door shut behind me, careful not to scratch the light yellow paint, and shrug off my sweater onto the coat rack. I leave the bread in a bowl in the storage room, where it's surrounded by a wide variety of other dry goods. The blackberries I wash and dry with a hand towel, and then I quickly whip up some croissant dough before rolling the berries in the dough and sticking the tray of unbaked croissants in the oven. I wipe my hands off and leave the kitchen.
My living room houses my favorite chairs, including the recliner I sit in often with a good book. As I look in the doorway of the room, I notice a stack of unorganized books. I put them into their place in the tall bookshelves that line the walls of this room and stuff the various blankets that are lying out into a wicker basket.
I walk down my long hall, enjoying the feel of the smooth and cool wood floor beneath my bare feet, until I arrive at my bedroom. It's the biggest room in my hole after the living room, and it's probably my favorite. Along one wall is my bed, a huge and soft thing with tons of blankets piled on top. Along the other wall are more bookshelves. It's here in my bedroom that I keep my favorite books, the ones I read over and over and never tire of. I glance through the titles as I walk into my room and select one that I haven't read in a while before flopping on my bed on my stomach to read it.
I smell the blackberry croissants before long and I mark my page and then walk back to the kitchen to take them out of the oven. They're perfectly browned and juicy berries are practically dripping out of the edges. I set them on the counter to cool, turn off the oven, and step outside for a breath of fresh air. While I have plenty of windows in my hole, they're all on one side (because it's laid out along the side of a hill), so there's not great air circulation. As I stand just outside my back door, I pick a bright yellow flower from beside the path and breathe in the scent. This place is perfect for me.
hobbit hole
As the sun shines brightly overhead, I begin the trek back to my hobbit-hole with an armload of freshly-baked bread and a basket of tangy blackberries. The long grass surrounding the hill my hole's built into the side of waves gently in the breeze, rippling in smooth patterns as far as the eye can see.
I enter my hole, pulling the circular wooden door shut behind me, careful not to scratch the light yellow paint, and shrug off my sweater onto the coat rack. I leave the bread in a bowl in the storage room, where it's surrounded by a wide variety of other dry goods. The blackberries I wash and dry with a hand towel, and then I quickly whip up some croissant dough before rolling the berries in the dough and sticking the tray of unbaked croissants in the oven. I wipe my hands off and leave the kitchen.
My living room houses my favorite chairs, including the recliner I sit in often with a good book. As I look in the doorway of the room, I notice a stack of unorganized books. I put them into their place in the tall bookshelves that line the walls of this room and stuff the various blankets that are lying out into a wicker basket.
I walk down my long hall, enjoying the feel of the smooth and cool wood floor beneath my bare feet, until I arrive at my bedroom. It's the biggest room in my hole after the living room, and it's probably my favorite. Along one wall is my bed, a huge and soft thing with tons of blankets piled on top. Along the other wall are more bookshelves. It's here in my bedroom that I keep my favorite books, the ones I read over and over and never tire of. I glance through the titles as I walk into my room and select one that I haven't read in a while before flopping on my bed on my stomach to read it.
I smell the blackberry croissants before long and I mark my page and then walk back to the kitchen to take them out of the oven. They're perfectly browned and juicy berries are practically dripping out of the edges. I set them on the counter to cool, turn off the oven, and step outside for a breath of fresh air. While I have plenty of windows in my hole, they're all on one side (because it's laid out along the side of a hill), so there's not great air circulation. As I stand just outside my back door, I pick a bright yellow flower from beside the path and breathe in the scent. This place is perfect for me.
rainy-rayne
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WEEKLY FOUR (2204/1200)
P1 - PLOT POINTS (296/250)
(59) Rainy's going to the main cabin in the morning to talk to people and get motivation to write, but she discovers that the stash of motivation mangoes has been replaced with procrastination potatoes! With time ticking down until the weekly's due, she knows that she needs to get the motivation mangoes back so that everyone can finish their weeklies.
(60) She decides to go around the different cabins and see if she can find any clues or if anyone knows what's happened. As she walks around, she finds three clues and one red herring throughout the morning, but she still can’t yet come to a definite conclusion because she’s been moving around all morning and hasn’t thought about it yet.
(51) She sits down in the main cabin and thinks for a while while snacking on some (regular not motivational) dried mango slices, and suddenly she realizes that the poetry and thriller cabins must have teamed up to steal the motivation mangoes for themselves to stay in the top of the leaderboard!
(63) She goes to thriller and poetry with some of her cabinmates to question them about the mangoes, but they continue to deny the theft. However, as one of her cabinmates interrogate them, Rainy notices that there's a group of thriller and poetry campers sneaking mangoes out the back door when a mango falls and rolls near her foot! Sci-fi campers confront that group.
(63) The group gives themselves up, apologizing and saying that they were planning on returning them just as soon as the weekly was over. They had wanted to keep their places in top two, but they were afraid that other cabins would pass them by submitting weeklies. The mangoes are returned to the main cabin and everyone rejoices with the restitution of the mangoes!
P2 - CLUES/RED HERRINGS (236/200)
(51) clue - rainy notices that campers from thriller and poetry are acting really friendly with each other - talking lots, eating snacks and meals together, and hanging out with each other, even though their cabins are in first and second place respectively and are both competing for the first place spot on the leaderboard.
(57) red herring - rainy finds a fresh mango leaf near the fairy tale cabin. it's so fresh that it still smells like an actual mango, so it couldn't have been dropped long ago. the only type of fresh mango allowed in the camp is of the motivation variety, so it also couldn't have been just brought in from home by a camper.
(55) clue - as rainy paces between the cabins and the main cabin, trying to figure out this mystery, she notices a few poetry campers acting weirdly. they're whispering between their hands and have shifty-looking eyes. when she goes up to talk to them, they're not unfriendly, but for the most part they give short or monosyllabic responses.
(73) clue - rainy asks one of her fellow sci-fi cabinmates if she's noticed or found out anything about the missing motivation mangoes. lily tells her that she saw some mangoes in front of the thriller cabin a while ago, but when she went back past the cabin a little later, they were gone again. she also noticed the poetry campers acting weirdly, and she says she hasn't seen any big groups of thriller campers together.
P3 - INTERVIEW (251/200)
// my answers for @stvriii’s questions
On March 22nd at around 8:37pm, I was out taking a walk when it began to rain. Then something weird happened. You know the rest, I guess - I was delivering a package to a/your house, one that I found on the ground out in the woods. I found it by a strange stone, a very smooth one, almost like someone had carefully tumbled it- and it had a carving of a twisting snake on it. I’m not sure why, but when I saw it, I just felt compelled to deliver it to them/you, even in the pouring rain.
No, I don’t think so. Wait, actually, I think I saw something similar on the side of a McDonalds Happy Meal once! That’s probably unrelated, though. So, no.
Again, no. I hadn’t even seen the journal before I delivered it to her, just the outer wrapping on the package - something told me not to open it and to just give it away. Maybe my conscience, maybe something else entirely. Either way I’m glad I listened so I wasn’t mixed up in this more than I already am. Weird symbols, though, seriously.
Yes, I am very sure. I was careful to keep it tightly closed. Maybe those were from someone before me?
This was me. I was curious what was going to happen, so I went there to check it out. However, once I realized they were really going to sacrifice people, I left. She must have gotten there right then.
P4 - STORY (1421/550)
Rainy walks down the long path to the main cabin, yawning as she slowly wakes up. It's the last day of the weekly and she knows that she'll need motivation mangoes to complete it. As she nears the entrance, she realizes that there's a lot of commotion going on inside. She enters the main cabin and asks the nearest leader what's happened.
“The motivation mangoes have all been stolen overnight!” the leader exclaims. “We're never going to be able to finish the weekly without motivation mangoes! Our leaderboard place…”
Rainy wakes up fully at this news. She knows what she has to do. Leaving the leader to their sad leaderboard musings, Rainy leaves the main cabin to see if there might be any clues as to where the mangoes have all gone.
As she walks between two cabins, she notices something on the ground up ahead. She speeds up her pace and once she reaches it, she realizes it's a fresh mango leaf. Rainy picks it up and smells it. It still smells just like a mango; that scent hasn't left it and turned it into a plain old leaf-smelling leaf. It must be very fresh. She looks up at the cabin in front of her. Fairy Tales. Have the Fairy Tales campers stolen the mangoes?
Rainy doesn't want to make any accusations without enough evidence, so she files this though away in her mind and continues searching for clues. As she passes by the Poetry cabin, she notices that a few Thriller campers have come over to talk and have snacks, which is strange because their cabins should be in competition for first place. While inter-cabin friendships are common (and great!), usually competition between two cabins puts friendships on a pause - cabin comes first for the most part. However, these campers are having a great time hanging out, which is weird.
She shrugs it off, but as she continues on past Poetry, she sees a few Poetry campers acting weirdly. They're sitting together in the shade at a picnic table, but instead of eating, making conversation, and cracking jokes, they're speaking in hushed tones. They fall silent as she walks up.
“Hi guys!” Rainy says, trying to start up a conversation. “So, weird how the motivation mangoes are all gone, right?”
One of them nods. “Yeah, pretty strange.”
The other smiles. “I hope we get them back soon!”
“Have you guys seen any of them anywhere?” Rainy asks. “I'm trying to figure out where they all went.”
“Nope,” they say together. They still have on friendly smiles, but it's pretty clear that they don't want to talk about this anymore.
“Well, I'll see you around, I guess,” Rainy says, waving. They say bye.
Back at Sci-Fi cabin, Rainy decides to ask around to see if anyone's heard or seen anything weird about the motivation mangoes. She goes up to ask CD or Zion, but they're both trying to write and seem pretty stressed without the motivation mangoes, so she leaves the two leaders alone. The only other person she sees in the cabin who isn't writing or trying to catch up on sleep after cabin wars is Lily, so she asks her.
“So, you've seen how all the motivation mangoes are gone, right?” Rainy inquires in a low tone, trying not to disturb her cabinmates. “Have you seen any left anywhere?”
Lily says that she realized they were all gone, but later when she was leaving Sci-Fi cabin to go to the main cabin, she saw some mangoes on the front porch of Poetry cabin. However, there definitely weren't enough to be all the missing mangoes, and when she was coming back, they were gone.
“Really?” Rainy asks, intrigued. “Hm, maybe they just had some left over from cabin wars. Have you talked to anyone in Thriller or Poetry lately?”
Lily replies that she's talked to a few campers from poetry, but they were acting pretty weird. She hasn't seen many Thriller campers around, but when she did, there were only one or two of them - never a bigger group.
Rainy thanks Lily for letting her ask so many questions and then she goes back to the main cabin to sit down and think about the information she's gotten throughout the morning.
Inside the main cabin, most of the crowd about the empty motivation mango dispenser has dissipated, but there's a few people still sitting nearby, talking about it. Rainy picks up some dried mango slices that unfortunately aren't of the motivation variety and sits down to mull over her clues.
As she snacks on the dried mango, she suddenly has a realization. Poetry and Thriller must have teamed up to steal the motivation mangoes for themselves so that they could dominate the top of the leaderboard!
Rainy quickly wolfs down the rest of her snack and leaves. She stops by Sci-Fi to get a couple cabinmates to come with her and question Thriller and Poetry, but everyone's so excited that she ends up bringing the entire cabin. They all enter the Thriller cabin after they see a bunch of Poetry campers enter.
“Hello…?” one of the Thriller leaders half-greets, half-asks.
“Hi there,” Zion says, their hands on their hips. He has a determined look on. “We have reason to believe that your cabin and Poetry have teamed up to steal the camp's motivational mangoes.
CD nods beside him, also wearing a defiant look on their face. ”Yep. You guys are acting wayyy too suspicious.“
”What?“ A thriller campers comes up next to their leader. ”Us, stealing the motivational mangoes? How could you accuse us of that?“
Finley steps in from where they had been lagging behind (they'd been trying to save their weekly in their writing software). ”Because you guys have been acting suspicious, your campers have been hanging out together when they should be in competition, and one of our campers saw a bunch of motivational mangoes on your front porch a while ago.“
One of the Poetry campers in the back of the group that's gathered in the front part of Thriller cabin curses quietly.
”You're pulling up evidence that means nothing,“ a Poetry leader says, stepping forward. ”We've done nothing wrong!“
As the leaders argue, Rainy sees a flash of something yellow and red by her feet. She looks down and sees that it's a fresh motivational mango! A few of the other Sci-Fi campers see it too and a commotion starts as everyone starts pointing and yelling at once. In the back of Thriller cabin, a group of Thriller and Poetry campers are carefully dragging out heavy-looking lumpy bundles.
”Hey! You guys in the back! What've you got there?“ Rainy shouts. They freeze and look at their leaders for guidance.
The Thriller and Poetry leaders exchange a look, and their shoulders drop. ”Alright, alright, you've caught us,“ the Poetry leader says. ”We're sorry.“
”But… why would you steal the mangoes?“ Zion asks, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
The Thriller leader speaks this time. ”We just wanted to keep our places in the top two spots of the leaderboard. We were worried that other cabins would pass us as their campers submitted weeklies, so we stole the motivation mangoes so that most people would run out of motivation and not be able to do their weeklies.“
A Thriller co-leader pipes up. ”We were planning on returning them to the main cabin tonight, once the weekly was over, we promise! But I guess it really isn't fair to the other cabins.“
The guilty campers begin to nod, agreeing. A general chorus of ”sorry“ emanates from the crowd.
”Well, it's okay now, I guess,“ Finley says, a smile forming on their face. ”But you'll have to lug them all the way back to the main cabin.
The Thriller and Poetry leaders nod, looking ashamed of themselves. “We will, don't worry.”
A few groups of campers split off from the crowd to gather the motivation mangoes up.
About an hour later, the motivation mangoes are back in place in the dispenser, and campers from all cabins rejoice in restitution of their beloved mangoes. It doesn't take long for them to forgive the Poetry and Thriller campers, and soon everyone's working on the weekly in the main cabin, together, with friends from all cabins.
Rainy smiles as she opens up her writing program to put the last touches on her weekly, a plate of freshly-sliced motivation mango by her side. It had all turned out well in the end.
P1 - PLOT POINTS (296/250)
(59) Rainy's going to the main cabin in the morning to talk to people and get motivation to write, but she discovers that the stash of motivation mangoes has been replaced with procrastination potatoes! With time ticking down until the weekly's due, she knows that she needs to get the motivation mangoes back so that everyone can finish their weeklies.
(60) She decides to go around the different cabins and see if she can find any clues or if anyone knows what's happened. As she walks around, she finds three clues and one red herring throughout the morning, but she still can’t yet come to a definite conclusion because she’s been moving around all morning and hasn’t thought about it yet.
(51) She sits down in the main cabin and thinks for a while while snacking on some (regular not motivational) dried mango slices, and suddenly she realizes that the poetry and thriller cabins must have teamed up to steal the motivation mangoes for themselves to stay in the top of the leaderboard!
(63) She goes to thriller and poetry with some of her cabinmates to question them about the mangoes, but they continue to deny the theft. However, as one of her cabinmates interrogate them, Rainy notices that there's a group of thriller and poetry campers sneaking mangoes out the back door when a mango falls and rolls near her foot! Sci-fi campers confront that group.
(63) The group gives themselves up, apologizing and saying that they were planning on returning them just as soon as the weekly was over. They had wanted to keep their places in top two, but they were afraid that other cabins would pass them by submitting weeklies. The mangoes are returned to the main cabin and everyone rejoices with the restitution of the mangoes!
P2 - CLUES/RED HERRINGS (236/200)
(51) clue - rainy notices that campers from thriller and poetry are acting really friendly with each other - talking lots, eating snacks and meals together, and hanging out with each other, even though their cabins are in first and second place respectively and are both competing for the first place spot on the leaderboard.
(57) red herring - rainy finds a fresh mango leaf near the fairy tale cabin. it's so fresh that it still smells like an actual mango, so it couldn't have been dropped long ago. the only type of fresh mango allowed in the camp is of the motivation variety, so it also couldn't have been just brought in from home by a camper.
(55) clue - as rainy paces between the cabins and the main cabin, trying to figure out this mystery, she notices a few poetry campers acting weirdly. they're whispering between their hands and have shifty-looking eyes. when she goes up to talk to them, they're not unfriendly, but for the most part they give short or monosyllabic responses.
(73) clue - rainy asks one of her fellow sci-fi cabinmates if she's noticed or found out anything about the missing motivation mangoes. lily tells her that she saw some mangoes in front of the thriller cabin a while ago, but when she went back past the cabin a little later, they were gone again. she also noticed the poetry campers acting weirdly, and she says she hasn't seen any big groups of thriller campers together.
P3 - INTERVIEW (251/200)
// my answers for @stvriii’s questions
On March 22nd at around 8:37pm, I was out taking a walk when it began to rain. Then something weird happened. You know the rest, I guess - I was delivering a package to a/your house, one that I found on the ground out in the woods. I found it by a strange stone, a very smooth one, almost like someone had carefully tumbled it- and it had a carving of a twisting snake on it. I’m not sure why, but when I saw it, I just felt compelled to deliver it to them/you, even in the pouring rain.
No, I don’t think so. Wait, actually, I think I saw something similar on the side of a McDonalds Happy Meal once! That’s probably unrelated, though. So, no.
Again, no. I hadn’t even seen the journal before I delivered it to her, just the outer wrapping on the package - something told me not to open it and to just give it away. Maybe my conscience, maybe something else entirely. Either way I’m glad I listened so I wasn’t mixed up in this more than I already am. Weird symbols, though, seriously.
Yes, I am very sure. I was careful to keep it tightly closed. Maybe those were from someone before me?
This was me. I was curious what was going to happen, so I went there to check it out. However, once I realized they were really going to sacrifice people, I left. She must have gotten there right then.
P4 - STORY (1421/550)
Rainy walks down the long path to the main cabin, yawning as she slowly wakes up. It's the last day of the weekly and she knows that she'll need motivation mangoes to complete it. As she nears the entrance, she realizes that there's a lot of commotion going on inside. She enters the main cabin and asks the nearest leader what's happened.
“The motivation mangoes have all been stolen overnight!” the leader exclaims. “We're never going to be able to finish the weekly without motivation mangoes! Our leaderboard place…”
Rainy wakes up fully at this news. She knows what she has to do. Leaving the leader to their sad leaderboard musings, Rainy leaves the main cabin to see if there might be any clues as to where the mangoes have all gone.
As she walks between two cabins, she notices something on the ground up ahead. She speeds up her pace and once she reaches it, she realizes it's a fresh mango leaf. Rainy picks it up and smells it. It still smells just like a mango; that scent hasn't left it and turned it into a plain old leaf-smelling leaf. It must be very fresh. She looks up at the cabin in front of her. Fairy Tales. Have the Fairy Tales campers stolen the mangoes?
Rainy doesn't want to make any accusations without enough evidence, so she files this though away in her mind and continues searching for clues. As she passes by the Poetry cabin, she notices that a few Thriller campers have come over to talk and have snacks, which is strange because their cabins should be in competition for first place. While inter-cabin friendships are common (and great!), usually competition between two cabins puts friendships on a pause - cabin comes first for the most part. However, these campers are having a great time hanging out, which is weird.
She shrugs it off, but as she continues on past Poetry, she sees a few Poetry campers acting weirdly. They're sitting together in the shade at a picnic table, but instead of eating, making conversation, and cracking jokes, they're speaking in hushed tones. They fall silent as she walks up.
“Hi guys!” Rainy says, trying to start up a conversation. “So, weird how the motivation mangoes are all gone, right?”
One of them nods. “Yeah, pretty strange.”
The other smiles. “I hope we get them back soon!”
“Have you guys seen any of them anywhere?” Rainy asks. “I'm trying to figure out where they all went.”
“Nope,” they say together. They still have on friendly smiles, but it's pretty clear that they don't want to talk about this anymore.
“Well, I'll see you around, I guess,” Rainy says, waving. They say bye.
Back at Sci-Fi cabin, Rainy decides to ask around to see if anyone's heard or seen anything weird about the motivation mangoes. She goes up to ask CD or Zion, but they're both trying to write and seem pretty stressed without the motivation mangoes, so she leaves the two leaders alone. The only other person she sees in the cabin who isn't writing or trying to catch up on sleep after cabin wars is Lily, so she asks her.
“So, you've seen how all the motivation mangoes are gone, right?” Rainy inquires in a low tone, trying not to disturb her cabinmates. “Have you seen any left anywhere?”
Lily says that she realized they were all gone, but later when she was leaving Sci-Fi cabin to go to the main cabin, she saw some mangoes on the front porch of Poetry cabin. However, there definitely weren't enough to be all the missing mangoes, and when she was coming back, they were gone.
“Really?” Rainy asks, intrigued. “Hm, maybe they just had some left over from cabin wars. Have you talked to anyone in Thriller or Poetry lately?”
Lily replies that she's talked to a few campers from poetry, but they were acting pretty weird. She hasn't seen many Thriller campers around, but when she did, there were only one or two of them - never a bigger group.
Rainy thanks Lily for letting her ask so many questions and then she goes back to the main cabin to sit down and think about the information she's gotten throughout the morning.
Inside the main cabin, most of the crowd about the empty motivation mango dispenser has dissipated, but there's a few people still sitting nearby, talking about it. Rainy picks up some dried mango slices that unfortunately aren't of the motivation variety and sits down to mull over her clues.
As she snacks on the dried mango, she suddenly has a realization. Poetry and Thriller must have teamed up to steal the motivation mangoes for themselves so that they could dominate the top of the leaderboard!
Rainy quickly wolfs down the rest of her snack and leaves. She stops by Sci-Fi to get a couple cabinmates to come with her and question Thriller and Poetry, but everyone's so excited that she ends up bringing the entire cabin. They all enter the Thriller cabin after they see a bunch of Poetry campers enter.
“Hello…?” one of the Thriller leaders half-greets, half-asks.
“Hi there,” Zion says, their hands on their hips. He has a determined look on. “We have reason to believe that your cabin and Poetry have teamed up to steal the camp's motivational mangoes.
CD nods beside him, also wearing a defiant look on their face. ”Yep. You guys are acting wayyy too suspicious.“
”What?“ A thriller campers comes up next to their leader. ”Us, stealing the motivational mangoes? How could you accuse us of that?“
Finley steps in from where they had been lagging behind (they'd been trying to save their weekly in their writing software). ”Because you guys have been acting suspicious, your campers have been hanging out together when they should be in competition, and one of our campers saw a bunch of motivational mangoes on your front porch a while ago.“
One of the Poetry campers in the back of the group that's gathered in the front part of Thriller cabin curses quietly.
”You're pulling up evidence that means nothing,“ a Poetry leader says, stepping forward. ”We've done nothing wrong!“
As the leaders argue, Rainy sees a flash of something yellow and red by her feet. She looks down and sees that it's a fresh motivational mango! A few of the other Sci-Fi campers see it too and a commotion starts as everyone starts pointing and yelling at once. In the back of Thriller cabin, a group of Thriller and Poetry campers are carefully dragging out heavy-looking lumpy bundles.
”Hey! You guys in the back! What've you got there?“ Rainy shouts. They freeze and look at their leaders for guidance.
The Thriller and Poetry leaders exchange a look, and their shoulders drop. ”Alright, alright, you've caught us,“ the Poetry leader says. ”We're sorry.“
”But… why would you steal the mangoes?“ Zion asks, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
The Thriller leader speaks this time. ”We just wanted to keep our places in the top two spots of the leaderboard. We were worried that other cabins would pass us as their campers submitted weeklies, so we stole the motivation mangoes so that most people would run out of motivation and not be able to do their weeklies.“
A Thriller co-leader pipes up. ”We were planning on returning them to the main cabin tonight, once the weekly was over, we promise! But I guess it really isn't fair to the other cabins.“
The guilty campers begin to nod, agreeing. A general chorus of ”sorry“ emanates from the crowd.
”Well, it's okay now, I guess,“ Finley says, a smile forming on their face. ”But you'll have to lug them all the way back to the main cabin.
The Thriller and Poetry leaders nod, looking ashamed of themselves. “We will, don't worry.”
A few groups of campers split off from the crowd to gather the motivation mangoes up.
About an hour later, the motivation mangoes are back in place in the dispenser, and campers from all cabins rejoice in restitution of their beloved mangoes. It doesn't take long for them to forgive the Poetry and Thriller campers, and soon everyone's working on the weekly in the main cabin, together, with friends from all cabins.
Rainy smiles as she opens up her writing program to put the last touches on her weekly, a plate of freshly-sliced motivation mango by her side. It had all turned out well in the end.