for critique

life felt weird, for little snow white.
all her childhood, she had been told that she was beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the whole world, let alone the kingdom. back then, her mother didn’t feel threatened by that beauty. she felt strengthened, that the world knew she had created the little creature with lips as red as blood and skin as white as snow.
then, the queen killed her. attempted, several times, before it stuck. but she had succeeded, with that final try. snow white had lied in a glass coffin in the woods, put there by people she thought she trusted, for some unknown sum of time.
then something happened, and she woke up. not in the cottage, where she expected to be. not even in the coffin, like you might think. she was in a cold, stone room, a castle room, that she had never been in before. for it was a castle she had never visited before either, the house of the king and his family in a far off kingdom.
the poor girl was terrified.
and i have yet to mention who she found herself face to face with: a servant boy standing over her with a look of disgust. it was all so much, so fast, and it would only get more and faster as the first day of her new life went on.
she learned that she had been dead, in a glass coffin in the woods, and that a prince had come upon her and taken the coffin home with him. she learned that she would marry him, now undead as she was, and had no option but to accept the marriage. she learned that her mother, who she had only ever loved, would be invited to the wedding and tricked into dancing until her death.
no wonder that young snow white was overwhelmed and withdrew into herself the moment the wedding ended.
her story was spread wide and far across the lands: how a valiant prince’s love had saved a princess’ life, how they now lived together in love. it reached the ears of several other princesses who felt sympathy for the young girl and who went quickly to her side.
snow white woke up one morning to the news that three princesses were there to see her. for a moment, she felt nothing, then a creeping fear took over. would they be jealous, as her once loving mother was? would they be afraid of her paler than ever form? would they laugh her off, when she did not know how to lift her teacup properly or when she kept her eyes open minutes too long?
shs did not have the strength to turn the older princesses away. she sat in bed, for a moment, only staring at the ceiling and wondering, how an apple got her to this place. she told her servant to let the ladies in.
talia wept, when she saw snow white. the girl was younger than she had been, so much younger. truly a child. how could someone wish death upon this innocent child? how could someone force marriage upon her? the girl spooked, when talia rushed to hug and comfort her.
“oh, my dear,” talia said, wrapping the girl in a warm hug. “what awfulness these men have gifted you. what strength you have to live through it.”
“we understand,” said one of the other princesses, from the doorway. “we slept, a hundred years in some cases, and woke to a marriage. only girls… talia woke to twins.”
“horror,” talia whispered, eyes wide. she leaned back, looking snow white in the eyes. “but we have each other now. and no more horror will come to you, i promise.”
snow white could but cry, for joy and sorrow and a great confusion of the two.

wolfiebear- wrote:

for to critique

READ ME!
i am aware it's not very good hehe it was originally for the jwc ‘24 writing contest and i was unaware that 3000 words is too little for a story like this so its super rushed ^^" anyway here’s an excerpt <3 (it kinda starts in the middle and then goes towards the end b/c this is the worst part)
ALSO TW swearing but in french lol and death/kidnapping

Lucy and Leia hurry down the street back toward their apartment which is just on the next block. Suddenly, a soft voice trying to make a dent in the din of the city cuts through and Lucy can hear the blonde girl yelling for her.
“Wait, wait! Don’t go, please! Please!” The girl bundles her skirts and runs toward Lucy. As she gets closer, Lucy can see the tears lining her face. She decides to stop moving and give her a second chance.
“La vache, what happened?!” Lucy is almost concerned for this naïve* girl, a pretty princess in the wrong side of town. People walking down the street glanced at her, confused.
The girl’s stomach heaves as she tries to catch her breath amid her sobs. “I-I…After you left I got…closer and I saw who he was…I-I recognized him.” She looks up with her large eyes filled with tears and whispers, “he was my father.”
“Nom de Dieu is it-is it really?” Lucy is confused and concerned and upset all at the same time, she hadn’t thought she would feel anything for this girl. “Come on, princesse, let’s go back.” Lucy holds out her hand and the girl’s delicate fingers lace around hers.
“Leia, go home. It’s just around the corner. If Maman isn’t there, go to Tante Joséphine’s.” Lucy presses the remaining francs into her sister’s hand. “Now, don’t spend these on candy. Keep them just in case. Be a good girl”
“Just in case.” Leia repeats slowly. “Good girls don’t waste money and are fast.” She disappears down the street and is swallowed by the crowds.
“Leia is a beautiful name,” the girl suddenly interjects. “What’s yours?”
“Lucy. Et toi?”
“Isabelle.”
“Well Isabelle, I do believe we have a mystery on our hands. Allons-y!” Lucy and Isabelle head back to the Jardin, but when they get there the two girls are shocked.
“He-he’s not there?” Isabelle says in her soft way.
“How very astute of you.” Lucy adds dryly. She wanders around the clearing looking for any sort of clues. “I see nothing…this is very strange.” Lucy notices Isabelle pull out a beautiful pocket watch from her bodice and check the time
“Oh no! I have to get home or my mother will be very upset…” She sniffles and Lucy walks over and puts her arm around her.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Lucy offers, even though the thought of going to the eighth arrondissement sounds terrifying.
“No, Mère would be very angry if she knew I was talking to someone like…you” Isabelle looks down, ashamed. “Thank you very much, though.”
“Good luck, Isabelle.” Lucy hugs the other girl. “A demain.”
Isabelle’s eyes shine with tears as she moves away from Lucy and towards the gate. “You too.”

The next day, Lucy awakes to see that Leia has left the bed next to her. She feels where the indent in the pillows was, and it is cold.
She’s been gone a while, Lucy thinks and quickly throws on a simple dress and braids her hair away from her face. Her mother has gone off somewhere, so Lucy opens the shop and prepares for the morning rush of people coming to buy their daily bread. Lucy decides to take a tram out farther into the city because Leia wasn’t anywhere she would have expected, and as she boarded the tram she recognized the girl sitting a few rows in front of her.
“Isabelle!” She calls out quietly, hoping Isabelle would hear her. The other girl turns around and meets Lucy’s eyes before quickly extracting herself from her full bench and moving to sit next to Lucy. “Have you any news?”
“No,” Isabelle says sadly, looking down. “My mother is not home yet and I don’t know what to do. Hey wait, where’s Leia?”
“I don’t know! I can’t find her anywhere, and I’m afraid something bad has happened to her…since the whole, well, you know.”
The tram stops at a station and Isabelle moves to leave. “I have to grab something to eat, I’ll come by the garden later, oui?”
“See you then,” Lucy replies as Isabelle steps off the tram and onto the busy boulevard. As another person passes, a small slip of paper falls into Lucy’s lap and when she lifts it up to return it to the man he just winks at her and keeps walking. She unfolds the paper and looks at it closely, trying to read the messy handwriting scrawled on it.

Parc Monceau. 7 o’clock sharp. Bring the girl.

Lucy doesn’t have to guess to understand who “the girl” was, nor what the purpose of the note was. The people who murdered Isabelle’s father had struck again: they had kidnapped Leia.

Later that day, Isabelle is eating a baguette while sitting on someone’s steps when she sees Lucy approach, a strange expression on her face. Before Isabelle can ask her about it, the other girl smiles and says that she has good news.
“I think I know where Leia is!” She exclaims, and glances at Isabelle to see her reaction.
“Well, have you gone there yet?” Isabelle is confused why Lucy would need to tell her first.
“No…it’s across town by the Parc Monceau. Have you heard of it?”
A smile flits across Isabelle’s face. Why hasn't she thought of that before? “I have in fact! It’s right across the street from where I live.”
Lucy’s expression brightens. “I’ve always wanted to visit it! I don’t know why in the world Leia would be there but she is I guess, and I, uh, don’t have enough money to pay tram fare across town and it takes too long to walk…do you think you could spare some?”
“Of course, I’d be happy to. Leia is such a sweet girl, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”
The two girls arrive outside the Parc Monceau just before 7 O’clock*. Isabelle turns to ask Lucy where Leia is, but she starts talking instead.
“I think she’s inside. Let’s go in. Please don’t hate me.”
Before Isabelle has a chance to ponder this strange statement, Lucy is grabbing her hand and pulling her into the darkening garden. The lush green vines arching over trellises with bright flowers dotting their branches add a much-needed pop of color to the dull March atmosphere, and Isabelle is so captivated by the beauty surrounding her that she doesn’t notice the man steadily approaching behind her until she feels the sharp coldness of metal at her throat
“Ne bouger pas,” a quiet voice in her ear says. “I am Lancelot.” She is as still as a statue, barely breathing. Lucy is standing next to her, looking at her with frightened eyes. But she doesn’t look surprised.
“Lucy! What have you done!” Isabelle momentarily forgets about the man with the knife pressed against her.
“I’m sorry,* I really am. They had my sister,* I’m sorry.” Lucy closes her eyes and Isabelle can see the glint of a tear in the moonlight, but she is not ready to forgive yet. When she opens her eyes again, Lucy has a determined set in her face. She faces another figure farther back in the garden whom Isabelle hadn’t noticed before. “Where’s my sister? You told me you’d bring her back to me.” She raises her voice at the end of the statement, surprising Isabelle at the ferocity in her words.
“I said nothing of the sort.” The chilling voice coming from the person covered in shadows terrifies Isabelle and she unconsciously shrinks back into the man holding her. “Take a look at your note.”
“WHAT!”** Lucy is terribly angry now. She rushes at the woman but another person appears and holds her back. “How dare you!” She struggles but the person’s grip is strong around her.
BANG!
A gunshot.
A shout.
A thump.
A wave of hair.*
A yell.
Before Isabelle can tell what’s happening, Lucy is tackling the man holding Isabelle, the figure in the distance is on the ground, presumably the one who was shot, and several meters away stands Leia, huddled on the ground with wide, scared eyes watching the proceedings with a sense of morbid curiosity.
With nothing holding her back now, Isabelle rushes to Leia. She scoops the younger girl in her arms and rocks her, whispering that it’ll be alright.
It’ll be alright.
Another yell comes from Lucy as the man pins her to the hard ground, the knife shining in his hand as he prepares to bring it down on her. Suddenly a flash of white streaks across the aisle and leaps onto the man. He lets go of Lucy in surprise and she scuttles away, watching as what turns out to be a cat attacks the man.
Realization dawns on Isabelle as she realizes who the cat is and why it’s there. It’s Chouxchoux, her beautiful Birman cat who lives in splendor and has never dirtied his paws a day in his life, somehow knew she was in danger and saved Lucy’s life. Chouxchoux backs up and the man lays limp on the ground. Lucy rushes over and takes Leia from Isabelle, cradling her sister to her body.
The sound of wagon wheels breaks the reunion and suddenly a group of sergeants de ville have arrived, no doubt notified of the commotion by a neighbor.
“Je m’appelle Mademoiselle Trim, and I’ll take it from here.” A stiff-looking woman steps off of a carriage.
“Merci,” Lucy says, as a courtesy because all three girls know she came too late.

This is a great story, there are a few edits throughout and I’m not sure about the French stuff XD edits= word* I love your style but I’m not sure about the style it kind of sounds like your reciting stage directions. I don’t know though it might just be me and my certain one way of writing lol.

Elise
605 words

“Leave me alone!”
The shout rang through the air, fierce and commanding. A sob built up in my throat.
“I-I never meant it like that! I just want to be your friend… come on, Elise.” I trailed off, my voice cracking with emotion. I stared intently at my old friend. Her eyes brimmed with tears, threatening to fall. I spread my arms open, a safe haven of warmth, welcoming her in.
“No!”
She ran out of the room, her hair flying behind her tear-streaked face.
“Elise! I need you! Don’t go!” I called after her. Salty water cascaded onto the stiff concrete floor, a waterfall of sorrow. Elise’s smile seared in my memory, painful yet comforting. I inhaled deeply, and shakily stood up. I stomped out of the changing room, my ragged clothes scattered on the floor behind me. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the look in Elise’s eyes as she argued with me ferociously. The thought sent pain like daggers through my heart.

I lay in bed, the springy mattress as hard as stone, sending a chill up my spine. My eyes were swollen and bloodshot. I listened to the inky black crows outside cawing furiously at each other. There was a glint in their eyes, dark and angry, yet despairing and anguished. Just like Elise… I swung my legs over the side of my bed and opened my window. The freezing night air surged into my dimly lit room, a cooling relief after the argument I’d had with Elise.

What are you doing, Amy? You know she never actually cared about you.
Leave it.

I ignored the malicious voice in my head and gazed out of the window at the glittering stars. They radiated harsh white light, harsh as the sodden concrete floor, glistening with tears I had shed, I had shed for Elise.

She’s not worth it, Amy. Didn’t you see the spite in her face?
She would never shed tears for you.

I knew that wasn’t true. I had seen them in her eyes, as clear as a vibrant flower on a rainy day. She was that flower, strong and kind, her personality vivid and dramatic. I tiptoed to my desk and turned on the lamp. Golden light flooded my room, blindingly bright. I fingered my woven friendship bracelet, the colours comfortingly familiar. Without realising what I was doing, my hands were clasped around the smooth wood of my pencil.

It danced across the page, elegant and graceful, like a bird. I sketched the mischievous twinkle in Elise’s eyes, the faint birthmark on her cheek, the small dimples in her cheeks. I became lost in the art, not stopping to think about the quarrel. The Elise I knew was still alive on the paper, smiling up at me with immense love.

Stop it. You know she’s not real on that paper.
She’s made her choice.

I shook my head and focused on the drawing, shading on the delicate bracelet around her wrist. Beside her I drew a hand reaching towards hers from the edge of the page. It had an identical friendship bracelet. I saw the rain patter softly outside, its fingers drumming on my window, washing away my tears. A light flickered on, opposite my house. A pale, blotchy face stared out at mine. Its lips curled into a smile. Elise. I laughed, a sound that made my tears fall faster and faster.

No

No

No

The voice in my head grew silent and I laughed. It was a sound that held hope. A sound that held life. A sound that held love. Love for Elise.

weekly one! legends :) 3648 words for the whole doc (but wordcounter is saying higher?? idk i’m taking the lower one)

section one: myths
retelling (3)? genre swap (4)? i can’t tell but this is one of the two hhaha
notes - yeah this is an alternate version of the one icarus/daedalus story!! may or may not have been influenced by what i was listening to anyways i did not do this myth justice i am so sorry (this is a sci-fi au maybe?? it’s meant to be with higher tech equipment or whatever)
icarus is free. the wind caresses his face, as if it were as happy as him to be together at long last, and the nightscape below him blinks with lights of red and cyan. his handcrafted aluminum wings make a metallic whirring sound with every passing second, and although he can't see them, he knows there are silver gears somewhere spinning soundlessly. despite the still-lurking sense of danger, he's grinning like a maniac - no more cement walls, heavy, dragging chains, and cameras in every corner. just open air and a second chance at life.
his earpiece gives a soft ping, and he clumsily reaches to answer it.
“son, can you hear me?” a familiar voice says with startling clarity.
“yes,” he answers, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.
“that's lovely,” daedalus responds, and he thought he could sense a hint of smile too. perhaps they weren't so different after all - both simply fleeing to a promised land. he's a bit more serious when he speaks again, “listen, our wings work by drawing energy from the cities below us. fly too far, and that connection is broken - ”
“yeah, i know,” icarus cut in, only half listening. he'd heard the warning at least a million times, and that was counting this week alone. but he trusted his father's creations, entirely - it was technically the reason they'd ended up imprisoned, anyways, and that had to count for something.
he hears a sigh, and then a nervous chuckle. “well, alright then - i'm assuming you remember where we're landing as well, then?” he doesn't wait for a reply, “stay safe, okay? see you soon.” another click, and he knows the line's empty again.

an hour in, he gives another look at his surroundings - mostly the same factories and skyscrapers, but now there's a shoreline in sight. unable to contain himself, he pushes for the glimmer of moonlight on waves. it's not far from here…
letting out a whoop, he soars closer to the heavens, his mind cleared from all burdens, from all thoughts. it's so incredibly soothing, so simple. in the back of his mind, he feels a light tickle, like he's forgetting something. was it major?
he's so high up now, so distanced from society that he could just reach out and touch the moon. he laughs at that, his pure joy filling the crisp night air.
he doesn't hear the urgent beeping from the motor. he doesn't notice when the gears stop turning.
the only thing he notices is when the feathers go limp, suddenly becoming a weight. a weight which drags his shocked, confused body to the ground at speeds that were in no way safe.
“icarus!”, he comprehends through the howling of the wind, its earlier gentleness no longer. each gust feels like a knife to his throat. when his body slams into the freezing water, eyes wide, the moon is the last thing he's grasping for. her face only looks down upon him in pity. (+497)

section two: hi-fi
(3) what if? christopher columbus crashed :thumbsup:
notes: this is 101% an exaggeration someone else definitely would’ve found the americas - this is in the name of fiction okay :,D p.s. i can’t be the only one thinking about the marvel show??
it's storming - sheets of rain pound against the deck like rocks, and the soggy planks of wood creak and groan in their struggle to survive. lightning streaks the sky, giving blinding flashes of light to the dark seas. there isn't much to be seen, though - through the night, the torrents of water from both below and above, and the heavily hanging fog, one can't be sure of who's even standing five feet in front of them. the cabin is entirely flooded, so there isn't anything left for the crew to do but cling to the crumbling railings. columbus wouldn't admit it, but all hope was lost. they would need a true blessing to make it out with only injuries, and there wasn't time to think, much less comprehensible prayers. the santa maria had met her ends, and so would he, apparently. oh, and the route he'd been mapping to india.
despite the extremely invasive and pessimistic thoughts, he led a half-hearted attempt of order and calm. shouting commands, his physical body clung onto the shred of hope, of living. no, he'd have to make it - there was too much left to do.
alas, even with the turn of mindset, the ship gives a final, defeated sigh as she capsizes. cold, murky water consumes the team of explorers, leaving no one alive.

oh, and here's a secret: although no one knew it, and nobody ever will, this singular but rather tragic event would change the course of history as it had been planned. no, spain would be left to ponder over the crew's fate, and the wreck would be discovered years later. columbus's name would still go down in history, yes, but he would've never been deemed important enough to have a day dedicated to him. routes to india would've been discovered as planned.
the americas? they'd stay as the lush forests they'd always been, brimming with rich culture and wildlife, undiscovered for far longer than they should've, mm, would've been. (+330)

(4) if these walls could talk…
notes: i eat drywall
oh, the things he'd say, if only he had been blessed with the ability to speak. and someone to talk to. the beautiful stone walls of his cave, mostly clean and pristine, never having seen the face of society in… it had to have been a long time. even as a collection of carefully placed rocks, he was numbingly bored.
so, dear reader. where could he begin? he was as old as the earth itself, he'd witnessed creation itself. he was one of the first results of those early masterpieces, placed onto the side of the very first mountain. he was shelter, protection, a place which was meant to be discovered, loved. and loved he was - he'd seen many things during those early days, from ones seeking safety to daring explorers. children, old men, immortals alike; there hadn't been a thing he hadn't witnessed. he'd been a shrine, a home, the lair of a dragon. the rise and fall of dinosaurs, the evolution of mankind - how proud he was when those things discovered they could draw on his walls. sure, it tickled sometimes, but that was the cost of art. one of his favorite eras had been the rise of a mighty village around him. he couldn't see far into it, but he could very well hear it - it was full of life, over the top with energy and music. it made him feel alive, too. though not artists, the locals had used him as some sort of prophecy central. that'd been particularly interesting; eerie, beautiful, and impressive all rolled into one.
he'd thought that was the rise of civilization at its peak. at that time, he was all for it. excited to see more; he was young, naive, and yearning for the future. how wrong he'd been.
when the cities truly came, they boarded him off like he was worth nothing. the drawings on his walls undiscovered, crystal caverns forever hidden from living eyes. glowing pools of water never to be bathed in again. he was bitter, of course - frequent avalanches were targeted towards the city. how dare they hide his beauty?
but that was hundreds and hundreds of years ago. his anger had faded into something more like melancholy, a deep nostalgia and longing that wouldn't ever be satisfied. oh, those golden days, the dawn of a great civilization. a shrine, a home… nothing that lasted forever. he wished to see someone, something. the bats had died off far more quickly than he had anticipated. a millennia of stillness, not so much as a ripple in his waters. he could do nothing about it - just stare at the pinpricks of light through the boulders and wooden boards. for eternity.
after all, he had no voice, and only borrowed thoughts from a writer. (+464)

section three: fairy tales
red riding hood retelling??? hehe (1)
notes: i have no idea what motivated me to write this. i probably butchered it as well :) anyway this is red if she were both smart and very vicious
the Woods didn't discriminate. they were scary, menacing, and gave off haunting auras despite how closely acquainted you happened to be towards them. red, out of all people, would know this first hand - as far as she knew, she had been the first and most likely the last person to be born and raised inside of them. the shadows were no friendlier to her as they had been seven years earlier; so it was fantastic that a girl as young as her had grown so numb to fear. spiders? monsters? cloaked hunters, perhaps? they wouldn't have gotten any more than an ice cold glare from her. for this reason, the forest admired her - this did not mean softening up. in fact, it meant sending particularly harsh challenges her way - nature's love language was rather backwards. but that's a story for another day.
today, little red had received a task which would've been far more simple literally anywhere else.
“bring this basket of bread to gran, will you, sunshine?” her mother asked with a genuine sweetness. gran was a baker, far more than capable of making her own goods, but her own mum was a witch, so she suspected that the batch had healing properties of some sort. red knew better than to ask - the guards would find out somehow, in a manner that'd certainly be suspicious and concerning and force them somewhere worse than the Woods.
“of course!” she answered brightly, taking the basket gingerly. a checkered handkerchief was draped over the top, but she could still catch a whiff of the heavenly loaves of bread. mother draped a dark red cape over her shoulders, carefully pulling the hood over her dark curls.
“stay safe,” she said, kissing her forehead. “i'll come looking if you're not back by six.” red only smiled brightly as she stepped through the mossy doorframe.

the air was cool and moist, as it usually happened to be, and the sun was no where in sight over the leafy canopy and blanket of clouds. in her eyes, this was perfect weather. gran's house wasn't difficult to reach. her leather boots clicked merrily on the overgrown cobblestone path, but they quickly turned to soft thuds as she transitioned to the dirt path. already, she felt the Woods envelope her in that oh-so familiar, eerie, off-putting energy. like a psychopath, she smiled.
it's not long before she senses another presence besides her own. unsurprisingly, it's brimming with malice. she quickened her pace, but remained calm nonetheless. when she reaches the fork, there's a large, black wolf blocking the left path - the one she needed to take. pursing her lips, she attempted to push right past it.
“nuh uh,” he said, moving to block her even more than he'd already been doing.
she shot a glare his way. okay, he talked, what else was new? “what do you mean, ‘nuh uh’?”
the wolf looked mildly offended. “you're not scared?” he growled, “not even surprised?”
red opened her mouth to answer, but he doesn't give her the chance. “meh, whatever. this is my path. you will not be going this way.”
“i took this path just yesterday though?”
“okay?? it's mine now.”
annoyed now, red pinched her nose. knowing these paths like the back of her hand, she could take the middle one. but it had a thirty-minute detour, which wasn't in her taste. “bro, just let me through.”
“heading to grandmommy's house, are you?” he asked tauntingly, before letting out a howling cackle. she had no idea how he knew this, but again, nature. “let me lead the way, princess.”
“no, thanks,” she declined.
she can tell he's really offended now. he starts to turn. “fine, i'll bring her to you - ”
she could also tell that that was not a good deal. really tired now, she drives a dagger into his side, and he doesn't finish his sentence. her boot nudges him to the edge of the path, and she trudges on, wiping her bloodstained weapon onto her cloak. the color does an excellent job disguising it.

she reached gran's house without much trouble after that. sure, there was the occasional falling tree, nest of wasps, but that was practically nothing. gran took the basket with a smile, hugging red close. if she noticed the damp spot on the side of her cloak, she didn't say anything. only thanked her and told her to hurry home before it got dark.
of course, the dark was nothing to fear, either. (+750)

section four: folklore
characters passing down a story! (1)
notes: let’s play my favorite game - is august named after the month or the ts song?? plot twist that’s up to you :)) yeah idk what to say, here this is!
the fire flickers between the three, giving life to dancing shadows and orangey hues in the dead of the night. sparks fly upward and disappear, giving the illusion that they too had joined the millions of stars overhead. miriam, nora, and august were all visibly devastated and exhausted - they had lost so much in just two days, and now their journey had come to a standstill on the side of a mountain, out of all places. with nowhere to sleep but a tent, and beans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, there wasn't so much as a glimmer of hope. the snow that had piled up around them only added to the miserableness.
nora pulled her knees up to her chest, reaching for any bit of warmth she could. there were only two tree stumps, so she'd offered to sit on the brown paper shopping bag. it was becoming soggy at an alarming pace, and she wondered if she should've saved it for something more important than a campfire get-together. they all stay silent, there's not much left to talk about or do except stare at the piece of foil above the logs, containing, you guessed it, beans. at last, august clears his throat, awkwardly yet effectively shattering the silence and built-up tension.
“so…” he starts, their voice noticeably wobbling. “i hate to ask this, but… what now?”
miriam looks like she's about to cry, and all regrets nora had about giving up the stump immediately evaporated. she reached for her hand, and was glad when it was taken softly. she gives what she hoped was a comforting squeeze.
nora sighs, “well, not much, i guess. we wait until the snow's mostly gone, then keep going.”
“we don't really have a choice, do we?” auggie asks in a whisper. nora only nodded. they sit with eyes fixed on the blazing fire once again.
surprisingly, miri is the next to speak. her melodic voice gives warmth to the air, although it's still very soft and on the verge of tears. “my mother used to tell me a story when i was a child,” she began.
nora and auggie both snap their heads to look at her. nora smiles sadly - she knew her friend's mother had died years ago, so the story must've been special. “really? mind telling us?” she says, “if you're comfortable, of course,” she adds quickly.
miri makes eye contact with her for the first time in - it must've been forever. it fills them both with a sense of calm and soothing. “okay. it goes something like this…”

long ago, a young girl set out on a quest. she needed to reach the peak of a mountain, and quickly - it was rumored that once she reached the summit, she would be able to make a wish, and it'd come true if she wanted it badly enough. well, in the village, all the crops had died, and they were in for a long winter - what was there to want, more than that?
so, even though it was raining buckets, she packed her things and prepared for the journey. the whole village cheered her on - she would be their savior, a hero for the history books.

they listened intently as miriam told of the girl's challenges in stunning detail. storms, lions, witches and wizards - it was a gripping story, enough to make them forget their current hardships and desperate need to sleep. who cared, though?

finally, she reached the top. but by now, it was early spring - she didn't want to imagine how her village was doing. there had to be numerous deaths. nevertheless, she dried her tears, and made the wish.
when she came back, she found that her suspicions had been right. half of the people she'd ever met were dead, so she began crying. it was her fault, wasn't it?
the remainder of the village didn't seem to think so. her wish had come true, and they were saved - they'd be dead within weeks as well, if it weren't for the girl.

miriam furrowed her brow. her voice had become far steadier with the progression of the story, and she seemed… content, almost. “i think there was something after that, but i can't remember,” she says sadly.
“it's okay,” august replies. “i think it's a lovely story. it reminds me of us.”
nora is smiling softly in her sleep. (+730)

magical realism (4)
notes: yeah sorry fern
fern started her eleventh birthday with the usual. she was woken up with balloons and cupcakes, both of while left her smiling for a long time. she'd been able to go roller skating with her friends all through the early morning and late afternoon hours, and the six of them had enjoyed warm slices of pizza on behalf of her parents. she'd received multiple gifts throughout the day, starting with a spherical green speaker that complimented her room during breakfast, bags of candy and two different bear plushies from their trip to the rink, and a collection of books when they got back home. in other words, everything was going perfectly normal, and fern was more than happy to settle with that. what more could she ask for? she had people who loved her, and that was far better than anything else she could've gotten.
well, if only it had stayed that way. while cracking open one of her brand new books on her bed, she heard muffled sounds of arguing coming from… somewhere. her sister usually would've been the culprit, but she was at university in another state. they'd facetimed earlier, and she was very much not planning to head here - her background had practically screamed utah, and it didn't look like she was in a plane or a car. curious, she headed down the stairs. could it be her parents? they never argued.
as expected, her mum was decorating the birthday cake, as she had been when fern left to go upstairs. her dad was at the table reading the paper. neither were speaking, and the voices had gotten quieter. she quietly snuck back into her room, as nobody had noticed her hiding behind the corner. was she hallucinating? dreaming? the beige walls of her bedroom looked rather normal.
it was around that moment that she noticed two brown birds perched on her windowsill. she felt a sinking feeling as she put the puzzle pieces together - their beaks were indeed moving, yet she couldn't hear their chirps.
no. no no no no no. she couldn't be going crazy right now, not on her birthday. eyes wide, she pinched her forearm, not caring how much it hurt. she had to wake up. unfortunately, one of the birds noticed her - it tilted it's head in a very usual, bird-like manner.
“congratulations,” it said. “you must be the chosen one.”
it took a lot of willpower to stop herself from screaming. instead, she stage whispered; “what? what does that mean?”
“you'll find out soon enough,” said the second bird, and they flew off together.
fern strained her ears for any sounds of tw33ting (a/n: are you kidding me), or chirping. all she heard was a muffled arrangement of voices. she'd thought it was a block party, but now, looking outside, the street was completely deserted. except for the birds.
“no,” she moaned, out loud this time. she'd wake up eventually, right? a nightmare, was what this was.

fern did not, in fact, wake up ever. this nightmare had become her life. she'd made it to her fifteenth birthday at last, and the past four years had been an utter hell. she'd hoped it would be only birds at first, it was awful, but manageable. she'd nearly fainted when she heard her cats talking for the first time.
what did they do in the folktales? they became friends with the animals. their friends would be in awe of them, and the main character would become some sort of hero, or a princess. fern was fairly certain she'd be singled out as a freak if her secret ever got out, and that was if anyone even believed her. her therapist certainly wouldn't.
sometimes, she pondered over what that second bird had told her on that first day. “you'll find out - ” well, it had been years, and the only thing she'd ever found out was that the entire animal kingdom was plotting against her. (+655)

final note: you guys don't know how much trouble i went through just to post this. brb i'm gonna go cry :peace:

Daily 010: 405 words, Critiquitaire critique

Hey there! Today I'll be looking at a piece by @silverlynx- –all words in quotes are hers

silverlynx- wrote:

Elise
605 words

“Leave me alone!”
The shout rang through the air, fierce and commanding. A sob built up in my throat.
“I-I never meant it like that! I just want to be your friend… come on, Elise.” I trailed off, my voice cracking with emotion. I stared intently at my old friend. Her eyes brimmed with tears, threatening to fall. I spread my arms open, a safe haven of warmth, welcoming her in.
“No!”
She ran out of the room, her hair flying behind her tear-streaked face.
“Elise! I need you! Don’t go!” I called after her. Salty water cascaded onto the stiff concrete floor, a waterfall of sorrow. Elise’s smile seared in my memory, painful yet comforting. I inhaled deeply, and shakily stood up. I stomped out of the changing room, my ragged clothes scattered on the floor behind me. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the look in Elise’s eyes as she argued with me ferociously. The thought sent pain like daggers through my heart.

I like your use of imagery here! Just be careful not to overuse it–too much imagery can bog a story down. I'm also a bit confused as to where they are in the above paragraph. Is it at school, or someone's house?
Okay! Now that I've defined a couple of things I want to talk about, I'll give some more in-depth advice about them.
Imagery is a complicated thing. In a way, a lot of it is about style; how you choose to write affects the imagery you use. The waterfall of sorrow and daggers through my heart use imagery to show how Amy is feeling. She's overwhelmed and emotional and hurting, and your imagery captures that beautifully. However, you do need to keep a careful eye on the weight of your imagery. Be sure that the picture you're painting with words doesn't use colors that are too bright, or it'll strain the reader.
Explaining is also a bit difficult. If there's not enough explanation about the surroundings, people, or culture, we feel confused, but if there's too much, it can be even more confusing. A good way to work in that kind of thing is to scatter it over several paragraphs instead of condensing it into one or two. I think you did a good job with the explaining overall; the only question I had was about the location of the first paragraph.

silverlynx- wrote:

I lay in bed, the springy mattress as hard as stone, sending a chill up my spine. My eyes were swollen and bloodshot. I listened to the inky black crows outside cawing furiously at each other. There was a glint in their eyes, dark and angry, yet despairing and anguished. Just like Elise… I swung my legs over the side of my bed and opened my window. The freezing night air surged into my dimly lit room, a cooling relief after the argument I’d had with Elise.

What are you doing, Amy? You know she never actually cared about you.
Leave it.

I ignored the malicious voice in my head and gazed out of the window at the glittering stars. They radiated harsh white light, harsh as the sodden concrete floor, glistening with tears I had shed, I had shed for Elise.

Just a small note here, try not to use too much repetition within the same sentence. Repetition can be a powerful tool, especially in tense and/or action-filled scenes, but if you want to use repetition I'd recommend breaking the sentences up into two separate ones.

silverlynx- wrote:

She’s not worth it, Amy. Didn’t you see the spite in her face?
She would never shed tears for you.

I knew that wasn’t true. I had seen them in her eyes, as clear as a vibrant flower on a rainy day. She was that flower, strong and kind, her personality vivid and dramatic. I tiptoed to my desk and turned on the lamp. Golden light flooded my room, blindingly bright. I fingered my woven friendship bracelet, the colours comfortingly familiar. Without realising what I was doing, my hands were clasped around the smooth wood of my pencil.

It danced across the page, elegant and graceful, like a bird. I sketched the mischievous twinkle in Elise’s eyes, the faint birthmark on her cheek, the small dimples in her cheeks. I became lost in the art, not stopping to think about the quarrel. The Elise I knew was still alive on the paper, smiling up at me with immense love.

Nice transition here! The drawing is a great way to bridge the gap between the moods of anger and forgiveness.

silverlynx wrote:

Stop it. You know she’s not real on that paper.
She’s made her choice.

I shook my head and focused on the drawing, shading on the delicate bracelet around her wrist. Beside her I drew a hand reaching towards hers from the edge of the page. It had an identical friendship bracelet. I saw the rain patter softly outside, its fingers drumming on my window, washing away my tears. A light flickered on, opposite my house. A pale, blotchy face stared out at mine. Its lips curled into a smile. Elise. I laughed, a sound that made my tears fall faster and faster.

No

No

No

The voice in my head grew silent and I laughed. It was a sound that held hope. A sound that held life. A sound that held love. Love for Elise.

I like how you wrapped this up, and I feel like you did a good job with the overall concept. Working the friendship bracelets in was a nice element, as was the drawing as a transition. I also appreciated the little inner voice you worked in, and the voice being silenced with laughter sort of “completes the circle” (beginning with sad tears, ending with happy ones). I really enjoyed reading your story, and I think it's very well-written! As a quick reminder of the things I touched on, be careful that your imagery matches your writing, and make sure you're striking the right balance of explaining things. Other than those two, this is a beautiful piece, and I wish you good luck with your future writing
(but not, you know, spider-web-Luck XD)
-Chuey

A Crack in the Window

Gently, you put the key in the lock.

Click.

Softly, you turn it.

Click-click-click.

Slowly, you open the door.

Creak.

You don’t dare make any more noise than necessary. It’s a quiet night, and you don’t want to disturb it. It doesn’t make any sense, but you know it would be wrong.

You step inside, shutting the door behind you with no great fanfare. Now that you’re out from underneath the shining stars and watchful moon, everything seems more mundane. You hang up your all-in-one key ring. The keys on it include your car key, house key, and a whole lot of other keys you needed once but have stopped using since then.

You take off your shoes and coat next. You breathe a sigh of relief as it starts to sink in that you are home, and that you can relax.

Your next step is to go into the kitchen and make yourself a microwave dinner, which you take to sit in front of the TV and watch the news until your eyes start fluttering shut. When they do, you turn off the TV and head to your bathroom to brush your teeth and then to your bedroom to put on your pajamas.

Something is wrong, though. As you stretch out onto your full-sized bed, lying on your side to face the window as you usually do, you frown.

There’s a crack in the window.

How did that get there? you wonder, sitting up. You don’t remember anything hitting it. No one lives near you, so it couldn’t have been the fault of a neighbor. You gently run your finger across the crack. It’s small, but still concerning. You just don’t know what could have happened.

You’re tired right now, though. You resolve to investigate it in the morning when you can put more cohesive thought into the issue.

So you lay back down and go to sleep.

~…~

In the morning, you forget about it entirely. You vaguely remember thinking something about a window, but you write it off as a random dream. Like normal, you get ready for the day, and head off to work.

The day is average and passes by almost mechanically. In what feels like moments, you’re on your way home. Once again, you go through your nightly routine, and eventually climb into bed.

The crack has grown.
You shoot up, heart pounding, everything from last night coming back to you in a rush.

You study the crack. Its paper-thin tendrils reach farther - stretching out, grasping at the edges of the frame. It makes you feel odd.

What is cracking your window? It has to be something. It has to be someone. A prankster, who thinks it’s funny to mess with you like this, who’s throwing a rock at your window nightly.

You look down at the entirely rock-less field surrounding your house.

Or something.

Tomorrow is Saturday, so you don’t have to go to work. You decide you’ll spend the day keeping watch.

~…~

Nothing happens.

Your resolve begins to fade by noon, and around 3 P.M. you give up entirely. I’m making too big of a deal out of this, you think. A mountain out of a molehill. There are probably plenty of normal, non-suspicious reasons for which a window would crack. You just don’t know about them, because you are not a…window technician? That is a profession that probably does not exist, but you use it to comfort yourself anyway.

You briefly consider setting up cameras while you’re gone, but dismiss the idea upon consideration of the prices involved. As you told yourself before, you’re being incredibly overdramatic about a crack in your window.

You decide to go for a walk. You need some fresh air, and a break from keeping watch. You realize how crazy of an idea “keeping watch” was in the first place. Yes, some fresh air will do you good.

Half an hour later you return and decide to go check on the window. You promise yourself you won’t stay in your bedroom for long, though. You just want to have a look.

The crack is even bigger now.

Your heart pounds and you cautiously step closer to the window. Why am I so nervous about this? you ask yourself.

You can’t answer that question.

The crack hasn’t just grown, it’s grown into…something. There’s a shape there, one you can’t make out. It’s not natural, and it makes you sick. You tear your eyes away, steadying yourself on your bed as you feel your knees go weak.

You don’t care what’s causing this anymore. You just want it to go away.

Hardly conscious of your movements, you run out of your room, rip your keys off the hook, and slam open the door. You barely remember to shut it behind you before you tear open your car door and jump inside. You jam your keys into the ignition and slam your foot on the pedal.
You’re heading to Home Depot.

~…~

You take determined steps toward the section labeled “Windows”. You try to remember the approximate size of your window but are struck by involuntarily produced images of the crack.

You end up grabbing a random one. You’ll make it work.

The cashier gives you an odd look, and you remember you didn’t brush your hair today. Or your teeth. And that you’re still wearing your pajamas. You consider this for a moment and come to the conclusion that you don’t care.

Once you’re home, a bit of your adrenaline has faded, and you have to work up the courage to face the window again. You manage to procrastinate by watching and re-watching a YouTube tutorial on how to actually replace a window and grabbing the necessary tools. But then you remember what you’re actually doing, and why. The design of the crack strikes you again, and you are filled with both new fear and new determination.

Your determination convinces you to face the music. You drag the window that is probably the wrong size outside, along with the bag of tools and materials, and walk around your house to where you know your bedroom window is waiting for you.

Now that you’re there, you’re filled with a rapacious hunger to just get the job done. Everything from the tutorial flies out of your head, and you just grab the chainsaw from its position beside your bag of tools and drive it into the frame. You drag it all the way up the left side, then yank it out to drive it across the top. Next is the right side. For the bottom, instead of using the chainsaw, you just rip out the window with your hands. They’re covered in splinters now, but you don’t care.

You stare at the window for a moment, and fear overtakes you again. Screwing your eyes shut, you use the strength you didn’t know you had to hurl it into the distance. It ends up buried by the tall yellow grass, so you don’t know where it fell. You don’t think you ever want to know.

As your panic and rage subside, you begin to see just how much of a mess your window frame is now. It’s uneven, and the cut is messy. You grimace. That’ll take a whole lot of money to fix, you think.

You look at the replacement window, leaning against the wall. Now that you can see how big it’s supposed to be, you can tell that it’s way too small. Not that it would have worked if it was the right size, given the state of the window frame.

You’ll just have to go without a window for a bit and call a professional sometime to fix this. You wonder how you’ll explain this. Maybe you’ll just play dumb. Pretend you were stupid enough to think you were just supposed to cut out the old window and shove the old one in. It’ll be embarrassing, but at least they won’t think you’re crazy.

Are you crazy?

It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.

~…~

A few hours later you lie down on your bed, excited for a good night’s sleep now that you don’t have to worry about your window - or the crack in it - anymore.

Then you see your window.

It’s back in the frame, which is as good as new. And the crack…

Before you can even think about what you’re doing, you’re reaching for the toolbag you laid at the foot of your bed, too lazy to put away. You reach your hand into it for a moment, then pull it out, move it slightly to the left, and grab your chainsaw.

Something is cracking your window.

You decide you’ll crack it yourself instead.

With a yell, you flick the chainsaw on full power, and in one fluid motion, ram it into the window.

Glass flies everywhere, and you feel shards dig into your skin and rip at your clothes. They coat your bed, and every movement hurts, but you don’t care, because the crack is gone now - it has to be gone. It’s gone, right?

You direct your eyes - both of them, even though one of them has a piece of glass in it and doesn’t seem to work right - at the window. It’s gone, but so is the field, the sky, and everything around your house.

Instead, it’s just white.

This is the culprit, you think. The void. Grabbing a hold of the window’s shattered edges, you slide a leg over the edge, and then another. The rest of you - broken and bleeding you - slides through after them.

Your house disappears. Everything disappears. It’s just you and the white, now. None of your cuts hurt anymore.

“Are you what’s been cracking my window?” you ask the void.

The void does not respond. At least, not with words. Instead, you watch as it begins to crack. Crack into patterns you don’t understand, and don’t want to understand. It cracks all around you, and you feel yourself cracking, too.

You scream. The pattern, it’s the same one, it’s everywhere, it’s the one you can’t comprehend, it’s covering you, consuming you, breaking you - it’s everywhere - it’s everything - it’s cracking - cracking - cracking - until finally -

it shatters.

Weekly 1 - 2505 words



Mythology- Genre Swap

Echo and Hera, but in the modern day

578 words



“Heyy, Hera!”

Echo sidled up to the taller girl, pushing through other teenagers in the crowded hallway. She twirled a lock of wavy blonde hair around her slender finger and smiled warmly. Hera’s jaw clenched.

“We have class, Echo,” she sighed. She peered around the hordes of people, looking for a path out. Looking for… someone. Echo pouted and waved her hand in Hera’s face.

“Hello? Earth to Hera? Why are you ignoring me?” Hera slapped Echo's hand out the way and shoved past the shorter girl. Her mind wasn’t with her today. She just needed some time… to think. To figure things out. He couldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t have… right?

“Hera! Stop ignoring me!” Echo shouted, her backpack bouncing as she yanked at Hera’s arm. “Honestly, why are you so boring recently? Is it because of Zeus?”

Hera whirled around, face scrunched up uglily. She stooped to Echo’s eye level.

“You don’t get to talk about him.”

“But he’s-”

“I don’t care! I don’t care about your opinion!” Hera straightened up and stalked away, a disgusted look on her face. Echo stayed put this time. She frowned. This wasn’t good- Zeus had asked her to distract Hera, and it sure as hail wasn’t working. Hera was going to find out soon.



Hera couldn’t focus on straight line equations.

At the top of the class, having usually finished the work before others were halfway through, Hera’s lack of attentiveness did not go unnoticed. The teacher came and looked sternly at her.

“Hera. You haven’t even started. What’s wrong with you today?”

“I, uh…” she stared at her drumming fingers. “I… can I go to the bathroom, Mrs?”

The teacher furrowed her brow. “You should have gone at break.” Hera stared.

“Finish the sheet. Then yes.”



The girl’s bathroom during maths was always crowded.

Skippers, , the likes. People filming videos, people gossiping, texting with friends hunched over their shoulders. Hera plugged her nose from the scent and slid into a stall. The words of others filtered through the cracks in the doors.

“Oh my gosh, Heimdall literally left me on read for like a whole hour yesterday!”

“Have you seen Persephone’s Insta? The dress is literally GIVING!”

“I actually hate my forehead so much.”

“Horus is SUCH a sweat, like literally he keeps trying to flex his grades on me.”

“Ya know Heimdall has a job at the bridge, right?”

“Oh, but he can at least check his phone-”

“Yeah, but Persephone’s boyfriend is, like, a total emo weirdo,”

“Aphrodite! Your skin is actually FLAWLESS.”

“Like, I DO NOT CARE if he got one more mark than me. Go run off to Hathor or something.”

“Did you hear that Zeus has a new nymph girlfriend?”

Hera froze. Oh no. Were her suspicions about to be confirmed for the worst?

“Yeah, she’s actually stunning. Hera’s gonna be ma-ad!”

“Hera doesn’t know though, Echo’s making sure of that.”

“I don’t know, word gets out.”

“Ha! Well, anyone with common sense knows that Zeus is, like, the least loyal guy to have a relationship with. She’s honestly asking for it.”

“The fact that he even paid Echo is crazy…”

Hera took a breath. Not Zeus. Not again. Not… not…

Echo. She was the problem.

Hera got up and flounced out of the stall, slamming it shut behind her to a stunned, momentarily silenced bathroom. Echo… when she found Echo…

Oh, she’d never speak a word of her own again.



Hi-Fi- Original Characters in Historical Times

Character is from @_Serenjade_, during cabin wars character swap
tw- GRAPHIC!

383 words



Seren screwed her eyes and mouth shut, taking in the influx of sound around her. Swords crashed, shouts and screams rang out, horses whinnied. In the midst of battle, Seren stood unarmed, protected merely by a leather breastplate and pants. Her guards nervously refrained from entering the thick of the battle, spears at the ready. Seren’s thick black hair stuck to the sweat on her face as she clenched her hands. She just needed to concentrate. Concentrate. Almost there…

“Seren! The shriek- now!”

“Aah!” Seren shouted. A great tsunami of sound exploded from her person, almost visible in waves of heat and cold and loudness and deafening silence. The battlefield was quiet, and the battlefield was encompassed in noise. Soldiers on either side froze, clutching at their ears, mouths agape in shock. The paralysis lasted one second, two. Then bodies fell to the ground and crying rose up and blood pooled out of the sides of soldiers’ heads.

The Carthaginians, trained for the attack, stood up slowly, wavering in their steps. They retreated as fast as they could, back to the city, back away from the wreckage. The battle was won. These Romans would die, and those that lived would desperately recount the tale of the shriek that silenced everything and burst eardrums. They would be discounted as ridiculous, insane, addled by battle, until the next legion of soldiers would suffer the same fate. This attack had ensued four times now.

The first time, Rome had attacked Carthage. Seren’s ability had been unknown, but she had heard the sound of battle in the distance, and the shriek had escaped her. Carthage had emerged victorious, but at the cost of lives- both warriors and civilians.

The greatest minds of the city had come together and begun to use Seren as a weapon. Plugs had been engineered and distributed amongst the population to protect the eardrums of the people. She was the first woman given armour, the first taken to a battlefield. But Seren was also a prisoner- held fast away from others and only released to annihilate Romans with her manipulation of sound. She had to escape- but without her, Carthage would lose the wars. The Punic wars. The beloved city would fall, and Seren would be to blame.

What was she to do?

Fairy Tales- Place Yourself in a Fairy Tale

Putting myself into Little Red Riding Hood except I know what’s going to happen and I can change it lol

470 words


“Alright- thanks, Mum! I’m off to grandma’s now,” I call, smiling.

“Okay, I’ll see you when you get back,” her voice comes. I slam the door shut and take the steps out of our yard. The path to grandma’s, dusty and overgrown, begins at the end of the woods- but I know better than to try and take it. This story’s been told too many times with too many bad endings- but now, with the power of foresight, I plan to change that.

I take off the hooded cloak and tie it around my waist. What can I say- it's summer, it’s hot! My boots find their way around boulders and ferns as I venture into the woods, keeping the path barely in sight to my left. The shrubbery should hide my figure from the wolf- but if all else fails, I have a plan. There’ll be no reason to worry.

It’s a half hour before he’s scheduled to appear- and he’s a timely wolf, this one. So, I tread on, winding back and forth through the thicket. It’s truly a beautiful wood- shame it’s so overrun by wolves. If only the village on the other side had listened to that kid who’d cried wolf, maybe I’d be able to take the path like normal.

Oh- there he is! Not a second late. He goes around sniffing with that oversized nose of his for a couple seconds. He won’t find anything- not until later in the journey. As expected, the wolf lets out a frustrated growl and turns tail. I smirk, satisfied. One area down, two to go.

In the end, it’s my cockiness that almost spoils my plan. I pass the second spot easily- jump the small creek rather than taking the bridge. Honestly, it’s hilarious to see the big, bad wolf ripping his fur out over a child like me. Ha!

I continue, skipping through the brush, until a root snags at the cloak dragging behind me. I fall on my face with a harsh, “Oof!”- but what's worse, I’m completely exposed. Quickly scrabbling to my feet, I try to run from the gravel path, but I’m snatched up by the wolf.

“There you are!” he snarls. “What are you doing? This is not how the script goes!”

“Nope,” I agree. I whistle shrilly, and a figure emerges from the shadows. It’s the huntsman, looking bored as ever.

“Can we just get this over with? I’ve had to follow her for hours,” he mumbles. The wolf eyes his axe and furrows his brow. As the huntsman steps closer, he finally lets me fall to the floor. There’s fire in his eyes and humor in mine.

“Thanks, brother! I’ll just be along to grandma’s, now,” I chirp spiritedly. I glance back at the retreating wolf. Ha! What a joke.



Folklore- Oral Retellings

I wrote the same story three times, imagining how it would change through three generations.

384 words



The night was clear but dark, and the child could not see. What was before him? It was a forest, but it looked not like a forest he’d seen before. Nonetheless, the child, emboldened by the moon, ventured in.

But a great horror waited for the child in the night. It stalked his moves; it watched his foraging. And it made itself known with a great roar!

The child jumped and screamed, abandoning his basket of berries for the beast. As fast as his little legs could carry him, he ran for the fields beyond the forest.

But the beast- nothing but a mere housecat, stayed put and purred contentedly with its berries.

—

The night was dark, and it concealed the dangers before the child. The shadowy figures of ancient trees grasped for him, but he ventured in. The light of the moon and the foolishness in his heart steadied him.

As he picked his berries and hummed his tune, the child felt something… off. A shadow watching his every move. And then, suddenly-

ROAR!

A great cat leaped out at the child, knocking him backwards, snarling menacingly. The child scrabbled to his feet and began to run, running, running, running far away, out of the shadowy woods, out of the danger. His basket of berries lay limp at the cat’s feet.

And the cat- a mere housecat, enlarged by the darkness of the night, began to eat the berries.

—

The night was stormy and dark, all but concealing every detail in front of the boy. Before him stood an ancient, looming wood, snarling with sharp plants and dangerous fauna. But the boy, heart steadied by blissful foolishness, ventured in.

He weaved through the trees, foraging and collecting berries and roots. But he was not alone. A great predator, a ferocious beast… it was on his tail.

ROAR!

The beast lunged, and indeed it was a terrifying panther, coarse with rippling muscle and adorned with sharp, gleaming teeth. The boy scrambled to his feet, and, all thoughts gone from his head, began to run. He ran far, far away, out of the forest, into the village, and never once returned in the night.

But the panther, who was in fact no greater than a housecat, remained, contented with his offerings of berries.

EXTRA - Folklore- Magical Realism

Everyday school life- but plants and animals can talk?

369 words- very unfinished



Rayne wrung her chlorine-soaked hair out in the shower, water washing the soap off her legs. Jesse was NOT going to be happy- first, she’d had to wake him up early for morning training, and now he had to sprint her to school- all before seven thirty? Nope, no thank you. Sighing and toweling herself dry, Rayne silently agreed- she wasn’t the biggest fan of swim training before school either.

Sure enough, as soon as Rayne left the pool area, she saw Jesse- fast asleep. His legs were folded up underneath him and his eyes were shut fast. This was going to be a pain.

“Jesse!” Rayne shouted. His eyes fluttered but did not open. “Jesse, we need to go. We’re going to be late!”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled.

“Come ON Jesse, I told you about this. I need to get to school!”

“You never said we had to wake up at FIVE AM!”

“Would you rather me take a car?”

Jesse recoiled, snout scrunching up in disgust. “Fine, I’m awake,” he said, and untangled himself from the stable floor.

About fifteen hands tall, Jesse was a glossy brown Arabian- Rayne's best friend and also her ride. After the animals had had a revolt dozens of years ago about the idea of motorized vehicles, transportation by horse had drastically increased.

That didn’t mean that they enjoyed getting up early, though.

Within minutes, Rayne was atop Jesse’s back and cantering along the main road. He still wasn’t happy about the early practice.

“I don’t get it. You swim so much; you may as well be a fish at this point!”

“If I lived by the coast, I’d be able to take a fish to school instead of your whiney self.”

“Oh, come on- horses are the most reliable way of travel!”

Rayne rolled her eyes. On her small island, there were multiple main ways of traveling. Horse was common, but as was shark, or cow for slower rides. Her friend Jas walked to school, but insisted on being constantly accompanied by Keishelle, the Kite bird. Rayne’s school- and indeed, most schools on the island, had built stables, docks and animal houses to accommodate the needs of the population.



EXTRA - Mythology- Crossover

Main gods from multiple mythologies are forced to endure beauocracy

201 words- very unfinished



The meeting room was grand and gilded in gold. Chandeliers of crystal and glass dripped from the ceiling, matched by ornate molded vases on the long, mahogany table. Exotic flowers and scents from across the globe fragranced the hall, and paintings depicted the finest moments of human civilization in striking detail.

Despite this, Zeus still grumbled at how plain the room was.

He took his seat at the table, smartly dressed in a tasteful toga and sandals so polished they were more effective than a mirror. He was soon joined by the others- Odin, in his usual roughly crafted armour, Shangdi in draping robes of silk, Huītzilōpōchtli in ceremonial dress and Ra, his falcon feathers neatly combed back. There would be others attending the meeting, but these five gods had been voted leaders of the council for the current four-year term.

No, Jupiter was not happy about being excluded. Yes, he had threatened to smite all of them to pieces. Yes, Zeus had had to deal with his unruly brother.

But now, the council of the gods came together to decide on the fate of humanity. On the very future of the world.

You know, as they did every so often.

Critique for the Critiquitaire

The excerpt is very good! The characters are fun and bounce off each other well, and I can certainly get behind their relationship - it’s very cute. However, they did feel somewhat flat and exaggerated. Their personalities are linked to common tropes, and, to me at least, no spin has been put on these tropes to differentiate the characters from the stereotypical “grumpy girl” and “calm guy”. Also, when reading, it often seems like these characters are endearing jokes first and people second. This problem is only accentuated by the way the dialogue is written - the use of all-caps and repeating letters over and over (such as “uppppp”) for emphasis make the writing very informal.

Weekly 1
word count - 2835 words

Myth - Epic Poem in Prose

The sites were clear as day as the sunset fell into the sky,
A mix of blue and yellow as if it has been painted by hand.
The Acropolis stood in its beauty, not too far off.
But one may have mistaken this feat for something else.
The end of a war was coming, the start of a new era.
As weapons clashed, lives lost, the sea began to tremble.

The sky was no longer pastel and pretty, it no longer carried the innocence,
the beauty and innocence that daylight possesses.
Instead, it reeked of destruction and damage.
Shades of red and purple covering the sky,
as if to act as a sign of danger to for comers who were joining.

Cries were in the air, as dust flew from all corners.
No one had a clue as to why it had began,
Yet no one wanted to end it either.
The responsibility no one wanted to withhold,
Nor accept at this point, but without one, there was no end in sight.

The battle started days ago, still continuing despite the harsh weather.
Lives were lost, while others continued fighting.
Those who suffered wept, while others rejoined the battle stronger.
Arrows were armed, bows were made,
It seemed as if the whole world was going to end.

214 words

Myth - Retelling

We were all lined up in the great hall, Augustus was acting all mighty once more, and I was so done with the way he perceived the world. I was Lucius, his father. His only parent. Why couldn't he have just listened to what I had to say? It was tiring, having to repeat myself again, time after time. A variety of thoughts spiraled my head that day, but none as wild as this. We were choosing between the two sides - the European Confederation wanted a clear answer. It was either this, or nothing at all. Though we know the grave danger we'd be in if we truly chose to do nothing. A punishment far greater than any of us could ever imagine. For some reason, this little fact didn't seem to settle in his brain. Instead, Augustus continued blabbering. Talking about his ideas of confederation and what next steps we should take in this war. Cyriace along with many others were looking at me with disgust, annoyed at the fact that I wasn't stopping Augustus from talking about this nonsense when this was an important period of time - one that should be used to discuss important matters that played a stake in our lives. Suddenly, the torches in the Acropolis went out.. It was time to come forward with a decision.

222 words

Hi-Fi - If These Walls Could Talk

One day I was three, the next day I was sixteen. That’s when I realized that time would stop for no one. That's when I realized that life was going quicker than I had expected - although time seemed to inch away at a never ending pace, I was already 13 years older somehow. Still living within the same walls, with my family. Not much has changed, but at the same time, I felt like everything had changed. Yes, like I said before, we were living in the same house, but I went to a different school, had different friends, and honestly had different goals. When I was little, I didn't have to worry about much. It was always “clean this” or “make your bed”, the usual to be honest. Though now, everything has changed. It was like I had this immense amount of pressure being weighed down on me - that constant pressure to be the best and do well. Sure, I didn't mind. I was fine always working for some reason, but at the same time, I wanted a life of my own - a purpose to enjoy life and continue living to its fullest!

After sitting on my bed, trying to sort through these thoughts, I decided that it was time to go downstairs. After all, I knew the world was going to wait for no one, and I had a lot of evaluations to prepare for. My whole family was out looking for some new property next to my dream university - great, more pressure! As I lugged my way down the stairs, I heard a faint dulcet voice calling my name. It seemed strained and raspy, but still stern and loud nonetheless. Scared, I hung on to the stairs even harder, trying to figure out who was calling for me. Without even trying to comfort me, the wall began talking, “Leilani.. you've grown much bigger. I still remember when you would carry around crayons and draw all over me. You know..” And so the talking continued, the wall didn't stop - it practically recited every single day of my life, or at least the important bits. It felt like receiving a warm hug. It felt like being heard and valued when someone told me how they felt about my actions, and perceived me as a person. From that day forward, I've never looked back. I've found my purpose, and I've learned to not let anyone determine that for me.

414 words

Fairy Tales - Using Sparks from the Past

Scene 1: Backgrounds are the insides of Wise Lady’s house

Wise Lady: Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a King, who had twelve daughters; each of them possessed unimaginable riches and power, as their father had no son. However, when it came time for the oldest princess to marry, the prince who came to the kingdom quickly noticed that every morning, the shoes of the princesses were worn through, as if they had danced all night.

Soon, the prince was given an ultimatum by the King: if, in three nights, he could find out how and where it was that the twelve princesses danced, he could pick any one of them as his wife, and he would become the heir to the throne; if it remained a mystery, he would be executed. Many men tried in vain to find the secret of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, each one failing, one after the other.

Now, we come to the beginning of our story: one winter’s day, a soldier too wounded to fight wandered through the woods of the kingdom of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, and approached a small cabin inhabited by a very old, very wise lady.

Wise Lady: So, tell me, what brings you here? It’s not everyday that I find someone wandering around these desolate areas.

Silas: Well, I was relieved from the army when I was wounded in battle, so I’ve simply been wandering. I don’t really have a destination in mind… although, I have heard the story of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, and I wouldn’t mind being King…

Wise Lady: The Twelve Dancing Princesses, you say? Anyone in the kingdom would tell you to think twice… except me, that is. In truth, it isn’t a hard task if you have the necessary information. The only trick to it is to ensure that you don’t drink any of the wine the princesses give you, for it is a sleeping draught. Find a way to make them believe you drank it, and then pretend to sleep. And here… here is a cloak of invisibility, guaranteed to work. Put this on once you see where the princesses are going, and follow them. That is where my knowledge ends — hopefully it will bring you far enough. Let me just write this down on a piece of paper so that you can remember my advice.

*Wise Lady hands the piece of paper to the soldier*

Silas: I cannot thank you enough! Thanks to you, I’ll be King in no time.

Wise Lady: Don’t be too sure of yourself; the princesses will no doubt have more tricks up their sleeves. Sleep here for the night so that you are ready to head out to the King’s castle tomorrow morning.

Wise Lady: When morning came, the soldier bade the wise lady goodbye, and started his journey to the castle using the map and compass that she had given him that morning. Deep in his pocket was the piece of paper with the advice. A certain time after, the soldier arrived at the king’s castle.

Scene 2: Backgrounds are the King’s hall

King: Who dares come here in my kingdom, unannounced?

Silas: I am Silas, son of Phillip, and I wish to attempt to find the secret of the Twelve Dancing Princesses.

King: Very well. Give this lad some of our finest clothes to change into, royal robes if I may say. After that, please escort him to his room. There you will find everything you need for the next three days. Bear in mind, Silas, that if you fail to complete this mission, I shall behead you myself.

Silas: The deal is sealed.

King: *Whispers* We’ll see if he succeeds in the mission. I doubt that he will. But, I should be thankful that yet another one is risking his life. *smirks*

Wise Lady: With that said, Silas was taken to a chamber of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, where a bed was ready for him in a small room cordoned off by walls, as if he was expected. The room was empty at that time, for the princesses were not yet home from their riding excursion. Later that evening, after Silas had dined alone in the room, looking over the instructions given to him by the Wise Lady, he heard some giggles down the hall, and hid the note.

Scene 3: Backgrounds are the princesses’ chamber

Amira: Oh! We have another guest! *whispered* Who’s going to be dead in no time… *full voice* Vera, fetch him a drink!

Vera: Yes, of course sister.

Wise Lady: Vera rushed to the room next door, and fetched a wine bottle. She poured the wine into a glass, and hurried back to the chamber.

Silas: Your hospitality is welcomed and greatly appreciated. I left my baggage in the sitting room; I’ll quickly retrieve it.

Amira: Oh, we have servants to take care of that! Take a drink, take a drink.

Silas: I must be excused now, my fair ladies, for my bandages require changing.

Amira: Drink the wine, soldier. Drink the wine.

*Soldier drinks a small amount of wine, holds it in mouth*

Silas: There. *exits the room*

Vera: A stubborn fellow he is… Amira, shouldn’t we be worried?

Amira: Oh, he’s probably nothing to worry about. Let us get a move on! We mustn't let him see us. Sariyah! Where are you?

*Sariyah enters the room*

Sariyah: I was just talking with Father. He wanted to discuss details for my banquet next week. I can hardly wait!

Amira: *whispers* None of us got a banquet for our 18th birthday, except you…

Sariyah: Sorry? Did you say anything Amira, I didn’t hear you… *innocent face*

Amira: Oh no, just muttering about how we must get going. The Soldier will return soon.

Sariyah: The Soldier? We have another one trying to figure out where we go? Amira… we could be caught this time - we shouldn’t push our luck!

Amira: Why do you always worry? We are about to go soon.

*Princesses start to head down the stairs, Sariyah stops*

Sariyah: *sighs* I forgot to change into my dancing shoes. I’ll head back up on my own, and join you in a minute. Don’t leave without me!

*Sariyah runs up the stairs, rummages around, searching for her dancing shoes; finds them, then sees the cup full of wine; touches the cup, then pulls back*

Sariyah: Why not? I’m thirsty, so I should be able to have a drink… it could be left for me, anyway. Who knows when we’ll be back… a little sip can’t hurt, can it? No reason why it would.

*lifts up the cup, about to drink it; Soldier whacks it out of her hands, Sariyah screams*

Sariyah: Who are you, and how rude of you?! What are you doing here?

Silas: Shh, shh, be quiet… they’ll hear you.

Sariyah: Guard! There’s a stranger in my room!

Silas: Shh! Don’t be worried, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t scream! I’m assuming that you are one of the princesses?

Sariyah: So what if I am? I’m asking who you are.

Silas: I am Silas, son of Phillip, and I am attempting to find the secret of the Twelve Dancing Princesses. I am sure that you know what might happen if I do not.

Sariyah: *scoffs* You’ll never survive.

Silas: I’m sure I won’t. But it’s worth a try… I’m too wounded to go on without any proper treatment, and the only good doctors in this kingdom belong to the King.

Sariyah: Well, then. It still doesn’t explain why you knocked that glass out of my hand!

Silas: You don’t know why? I assumed that you were all in on the secrets.

Sariyah: What secrets? They tell me everything… your little tricks aren’t going to work on me.

Silas: *rummages around the bed, pulls out note* You see this? This was given to me by a wise old woman on the forest edge. Read it for yourself.

*Sariyah reads note*

Sariyah: This is ridiculous! How do I know that you didn’t write that nifty note yourself?

Silas: *takes perched sparrow on the windowsill and pours the wine down its throat; sparrow starts to sleep* Is that enough proof for you? And what about this? *takes cloak of invisibility, disappears*

Sariyah: I don’t know how you’re doing it, but this must be some kind of black magic.

Silas: It is not, I promise you. I speak only the truth.

*eyes lock, a moment of silence*

Sariyah: Well then, I must be on my way. My sisters are waiting for me. They’ll be suspicious if I don’t arrive soon… It was good to meet you, Silas. *blushes*

Silas: It was good to meet you as well… *chuckles* I still don’t know your name.

Sariyah: *hesitates* Sariyah. I’m the youngest of the sisters, so naturally, I get into the most trouble.

1484 words

Fairy Tale - Mixing in a Little Magic

Everything was just like I had imagined. The music was playing loud and clear, and the flowers were everywhere in the palace - as decorations, garnishments, and even a part of my outfit! Nothing could make this day any better, and with that I also knew that absolutely nothing could spoil my mood. It was today that I realized just how much I had, really how lucky I was to experience life as a fairy tale lets say. The ballroom was lined up with butlers and servants of all kind, as well as friends that I hadn't seen in ages! It was as if all of my life dreams were coming together - all to be granted on one day in that singular place. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I kept on noticing those tiny details that made this event that much more special. The colors, the lights, the cake, the deserts - I just wanted to relive this moment for the rest of my life, not having to feel any of the pain or sorrow that I knew I'd have to experience later in the story. But I had a feeling, or more or so I knew. Something was to come, and I had to be ready. And since this is my story, I get to choose what path I go down, and the ending that I get. I decide my own fate, and no one shall ever interfere with that.

240 words

Folklore - Magical Realism

In the deep woods, everything was surrounded by ferns and moss. It was a great site to venture through those woods - it was filled with magic, a horizon of what seemed almost impossible. Although from the outside everything seemed somewhat dark and dreary, anyone who dared to enter the forest would say that it was everything but that. The leaves were colorful, the stone pathway lit up, and above all that, there were talking animals who were not frightening at all! It was such a magical place, one that you could honestly just lose yourself in - and that is what many ended up doing unfortunately..

Sure, it was always lively and bright in the forest, but with every little bit of happiness that was produced, darkness inched closer, approaching quicker than ever. Amongst the animals, everyone living in joy - no one ever accepted such a thing to happen. But with all the new travelers coming into the forest, it was losing its health and defense mechanisms bit by bit. The color from the plants began to die off, the shimmer that once illuminated the entire forest was fading away, and the animals that once ventured every part of the ancient woods were no more. It had all come to an unfortunate end, with no sense of beginning from the very start.

221 words

spin on a myth

Odin hadn’t been expecting to receive a head in the mail. But he could handle it. Now, surely anyone else would have been angry, to discover in such a way that their uncle had been murdered. But Odin, obviously, was not an ordinary man.
“Oh, Mimir,” he muttered. He carefully removed the head from its package and placed it upon a nearby table. Then he set about gathering his herbs. The blend needed to be just right to prevent Mimir’s head from rotting and prepare it for the incantations Odin was about to perform.
Now, surely anyone else would be rather squeamish at the thought of rubbing poultices on the disembodied head of their uncle. But Odin, as we have already established, was not an ordinary man.
Now the head was ready. Luckily, Odin was very wise thanks to Mimir, and he was a master of incantation. It was not a challenge for Odin to bring life back into the head and allow Mimir to speak once more.
“Oh, my friend,” murmured Odin, carefully holding the head in his arms. “It’s time for you to come back.”
Mimir’s eyes opened. “Hello!” The head said cheerfully, in a manner not at all like the Mimir Odin was used to.
Odin was rather taken aback.
“Odin,” said Mimir, “I’m afraid I’ve been rather dishonest with you. My name is not actually Mimir. I am not the man you think you know.”
“Who are you, then?”
“Well… I’m the Doctor. And I’d best be going now. Please set me gently on the floor.”
Odin did what he was told, placing the head on the ground in front of him.
Then, in a blinding flash of light, the head disappeared and in its place was an entirely new person.
“Right then,” the new man said, “I’ll be heading off. Need to get some rest See you!”
And with that he gave a little wave and left the room.
Despite what the man had said, Odin never saw him again.

original character in historical time

“World War One,” says the Doctor. “Or, it will be World War One in a few weeks.”
“Why are we here?” I ask. The Doctor had been unusually adamant that they had to be at this exact place and time, and they had to come immediately.
I hadn’t protested. I know better, after all this time. The Doctor always has his reasons. And usually it’s best to trust them.
“Something weird is going on,” the Doctor explains. “Events from the 1910s have just casually started… changing. No reason, at least not that I could find. So we came back here to fix it, set everything back on the path that leads to the modern Earth.”
“What do we have to do?”
“Oh, just little things mostly. Like that,” he adds, pointing his sonic screwdriver at a seemingly random car. As I watch, the license plate changes and rearranges itself into a new set of numbers.
“A, eleven, eleven, eighteen,” I read out. It sounds vaguely familiar, like it’s something important I should remember but don’t. “What’s that mean?”
The Doctor merely smiles. “You’ll think of it in a moment.”
I look again, letting my brain try to piece together why I recognize it. “Eleven, eleven, eighteen! Eleven November, Nineteen-Eighteen. Its armistice!”
“Yup!” Says the Doctor. “If I hadn’t changed that back, the war wouldn’t have ended for another seventy years. You’d’ve been born during World War One!”

change one thing about an event

“So wait, you’re telling me the Cold War was orchestrated by aliens?”
“Seems so,” the Doctor says, sounding totally nonchalant about the whole thing.
“How did you not notice this before?”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if both governments knew of the aliens and just kept the whole thing under wraps. I mean, nearly every country is doing that back in your time. I wouldn’t be surprised if the US and USSR started that back here in 1963.”
“Why aren’t we getting involved? Aren’t we going to fix it, like we did in 1914?”
“Not this time. This time, there’s nothing to fix. This is happening as it should be. The world you were born into was a world just about to come out of thirty years of alien control. To change that would completely reshape the modern world as you know it, and I wouldn’t recommend doing that.”
“Why’d they leave, then?”
“Let’s watch and find out, shall we?”
“Sure!”
“We’ll have to stay very hidden though. While aliens are supposed to be here, we aren’t, not really. This is a very tumultuous time, one little thing changed and the fate of the Earth goes of in a whole new direction. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t mess with anything. Got it?”

journey of motifs

It really was too bad about the ballgown, Rose thought, but they really weren’t made to survive heists, or running for one’s life. The bodice was mostly intact, which was good because the intricate hand embroidery on it was definitely the most valuable, and hardest to replicate, part of the dress. The skirts though. The beautiful, full, vibrant skirts had been ripped to shreds. All that remained were some scraps of fabric that for the most part didn’t even reach her knees. She hadn’t looked in the mirror, but she was certain her once elegant hairstyle was now a disaster. She removed what remained of the dress and pulled on the first clean shirt and pants she could find, too exhausted to take a shower or anything. She would probably end up sleeping in her clothes tonight.
“I was thinking about wolves,” she said as she entered the library.
“Oh?” Asked the Doctor.
“You know, we were kind of in a fairytale today. And lots of fairytales have wolves. It got me thinking, why was I called Bad Wolf? I wasn’t particularly evil or anything, all I did was save the people I cared about.”
“I think there’s more to wolves than being evil. They also represent strength and cunning, and their pack is more important to them than anything. So I think it makes perfect sense.”

oral retelling

“Wait, so, Doctor, how many legends and fairytales are actually about you and nobody knows?”
“Oh, very many. For some reason all sorts of planets like to portray me as a prince.”
“Probably because you’re very vain.”
“Oh, undoubtedly.”
“So, which of earth’s Prince Charming’s were you?”
“None, not exactly. Your Earth legends are especially good at morphing, at shifting and changing. They’re almost all based in truth, but so far removed from it that they become unrecognizable. No other planet does this to quite the same degree.”
“Tell me some alien legends, then. Preferably ones with you in them.”
“Oh, I know just the story. It’s one of my favourites. It portrays me as a grumpy, uncouth wizard.
“Not far from the truth, honestly.”
“Shut up. Anyway, in this “alien legend” as you say, a young girl goes missing in the woods. She was anywhere between four and ten depending on the retelling, but a detail that stays the same is the animal she took with her. It’s sort of like your earth dogs, but bigger and stronger. They’re a typical pet now, but weren’t at the time. This girl was one of the first to bond with one. Anyway, this girl and this… I suppose I could say wolf, we’re lost wondering in this forest for nearly two weeks. Some recent retellings make it all dramatic and say it was longer, but it was two weeks. As I’m sure you’re expecting by now, she found the TARDIS. She found me.”
“Ah, so your depiction as a grumpy wizard comes from a four-year-old girl.”
“Indeed. She was trying to get back to her parents, but she was lost. The TARDIS and I helped her back. Really not that big of a deal, but it certainly seemed magical to her.”
“Doctor, you really are as soft as I keep telling you. You made a big enough impact on this girl that you’ve become part of their culture. That’s adorable.”
“Not the word I would have chosen, but okay.”

magical realism

“Doctor! That squirrel — she’s talking!”
“Right, yeah, that. Suppose I forgot to warn you then?”
“Warn me about what? That the squirrels on this planet can speak?
“Oh, it’s not just squirrels. It’s everything. Even that tree you’re leaning on.”
She jumps away, startled.
“Don’t worry,” says the tree, “I wouldn’t harm you.”
“Besides,” the Doctor says, “you’ve met talking trees before.”
“Yeah, but not really. They were tree people. Not actual trees.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a distinction. Even the trees back on Earth in your time, they can talk. They send complex messages back and forth, some of them more advanced than anything you humans have come up with yet. You just haven’t learned how to understand and talk back.”
“Would you show me how to talk to an Earth tree?”
“No, but the TARDIS could probably help you out. But we’re not done on this planet yet, you till haven’t seen what I brought you here to show you.”
“Oh? I didn’t know we were here for anything special. What is it?”
“Oh, no. No questions. It would ruin the surprise.”
She turns to the tree, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“I do,” says the tree. “And I think you’re going to love it.”

PART 1: Mythology

Retelling
Breeze was born into an unknown world, still unexplored by his species, the shazarxi. There were still many things to discover, and ideas no one had even thought yet to imagine. However, an unknown world can be a scary one, too. Tragedy struck early in his life when his mother died, leaving him vulnerable to the whims of fate. His father found love again, but rather than bringing forth new hope, Breeze’s life became fraught with tension and resentment, when Flood, his new stepbrother, took issue with this change. Flood harbored animosity towards Breeze and his father for intruding into his life, and took his anger out upon the young shazarxa. His cruelty drove Breeze away from his home and even deeper into the unknown.
Lost and alone, Breeze stumbled upon Chaos, a mystical wolf whose presence seemed to beckon him towards a new path. Entranced by Chaos's power, Breeze willingly embraced her magic, allowing her to transform him into a wolf. In this new form, and with a new name, Blaze, he roamed the wilderness, the memories of his former life locked away.
But he could not escape the secrets of his past, and in time, he had to face them once more. As a wolf, Blaze confronted Flood, but now with the instincts of a predator, he only saw prey, not family. When his memories returned, the weight of his actions bore heavy upon his conscience, yet amidst the guilt, he perservered. With newfound friends by his side, he accepted what he had become. Blaze embraced both his past and his present, forging a new family, one of his choosing, in the wild expanse of their untamed world.

PART 2: Hi-Fi

If These Walls Could Talk: The Events One Place Has Seen
In a clearing in the forest, not far from the river, there stands a willow tree. In the summertime, it is surrounded by wildflowers; in the winter, by a thin blanket of snow. Its boughs wave in the autumn gales and its roots drink the springtime rain.
It is a young tree, not old enough to remember the last of the birdsong or the many sunless seasons that followed. Its seed sprouted into a world that was already healing, its first leaf opening to a bright, hopeful sky. Life streamed around it on all sides as it grew. Lizards and insects made their homes in its bark, below its roots, and amidst its leaves. Wild horses brushed against its trunk as they grazed, and wolves passed by under cover of night, on their nomadic journeys to new hunting grounds.
One day, a new creature found its way to the clearing where it was planted, following the scent of the flowers. She was a young shazarxa, not yet fully fledged, playing in the warmth of early summer.
She was delighted by the flowers and soon returned with another of her kind- her brother. The brother was sickly and could not romp and tumble as she could. But she was kind and made sure he could always keep up, as she brought him to the cool shade of the willow to spend their summer afternoons day after day.
However, as the days shortened and summer turned to autumn, the flowers shrivelled and wildfire smoke hung in the air. The brother grew sicker, and then he was gone, lying still and silent beneath the willow branches.
She buried him alongside the willow’s roots and left the summer behind. No shazarxa set paw in the clearing for several seasons. However, time passed, and one day, with fledglings of her own trailing behind her, she returned.
She told them of the ephemeral joy of the summer flowers, of the body that had now become part of the tree, which still grew green and strong. They left again, but this time, one of those fledglings came back every now and then, to rest beneath the tree. He had a lover, and they shared their affection among the willow’s soft leaves, making the place their own.
When he went away, his lover waited by the tree for him to come back. But he never did. Time passed.
Until, one day, he returned. There, beneath the willow, they found each other again, and though it was never the same as before, they created a new kind of love.
And still, the tree stood, opening its leaves to a bright, hopeful sky.

PART 3: Fairy Tales

Mixing in a Little Magic: Place Yourself in a Fairy Tale
As Wild, the shazarxa, I found myself tumbling down a rabbit hole of mystique and wonder. Amidst the strange and whimsical world of Wonderland, I encountered peculiar creatures and surreal landscapes that defied all logic. The Cheshire Cat, with its enigmatic grin, guided me through the maze of madness, while the Mad Hatter's tea party offered a glimpse into the absurdity of existence.
As I ventured deeper into this fantastical realm, I encountered the tyrannical Queen of Hearts, whose rule was enforced by her army of playing cards. With each encounter, I grappled with the absurdity of Wonderland's inhabitants, questioning the nature of reality and my place within it.
Yet, amidst the chaos and confusion, I found moments of clarity and enlightenment. The wise Caterpillar imparted cryptic wisdom, urging me to embrace my inner wildness and trust in my instincts. With newfound courage, I faced the trials and tribulations of Wonderland head-on, determined to uncover the truth behind this strange and captivating world.
In the end, as I emerged from the rabbit hole, I carried with me a sense of wonder and curiosity that would shape my adventures for years to come, forever changed by my journey through Wonderland.

A Journey of Motifs: Using Popular Fairy Tale Motifs in Another Story
Again and again, I find myself.
Sometimes I find myself in a place, in a world or just an illusion. Sometimes I find myself in a game or a thought or a fiction. Sometimes in my creation.
There was an island once, that was adrift in a sea of emptiness. Unwritten pages and blank canvases were mine to fill. Flying off into that void to choose my own universe, I met someone who seemed familiar to me.
They taught me the things I needed to know to fulfill my dreams, helped me grow a world of my very own. However, with every creation that I solidified into place, they faded away a little more, their purpose complete.
Yet I knew I had to keep going, even if it meant losing them. So I did, and at the end, my universe all but finished, they said a fond farewell, leaving me with only one thing: a blueprint.
I was at a loss for what to do. I had accomplished everything I needed to, built everything that needed building, solved every problem that needed solving. This was what I was meant for! Surely, all I had left to do was sit back and let the stories unfold within the world I had made?
But the blueprint must have some purpose that I had overlooked, though it was certainly unclear. So I followed its instruction, and piece by piece, set to building the machine that it described. Stories lived and died upon my world, but I paid little attention to them, seeking only the purpose of the machine.
And then, with all stories told and the end of the world, and myself, nigh, I finished. It was only then I realized that it was never meant to have had a purpose. It was not necessary to my world. It had not been my purpose, either. I had never been meant to do this- any of this.
And as I found myself there, in the middle of a meaningless mess, I looked back on all I knew, all I had learned, all of the stories that also had no meanings except the ones created by those within them.
I saw my reflection in the glass surrounding my younger self and knew there was one last thing to do. My world faded away, back into what it was before, unwritten pages and blank canvases. I floated there, in that emptiness, searching. Until I found myself, ready to create a world of their own.

PART 4: Folklore

Oral Retelling: Show Characters Passing Down a Story
“Ah- here it is. This place is special to me,” Ember said, perching upon a ledge overlooking the forest below. He turned and watched with a smile as his three children, Thorn, Parsnip, and Teardrop, landed beside him. “When I had only been able to fly for a few seasons, my father took me here to see the sky,” Ember began, settling in to tell the story.
“I was younger than you are now, but I still remember it very clearly.” He closed his eyes, allowing the memories to wash over him. “Moss and Wander were there, and- and Ash, too, for he had fledged early and was determined to fly with us despite his age.”
“As the sun set below the horizon, the whole world seemed to come alive. And you know what my father told us? He said, ‘Every creature who has ever been, no matter how broken, no matter how pained, finds peace here. No, not this ledge exactly- I mean here.’ And he pointed his tail at the sky. So we watched as the sky darkened, and brilliant colors flashed across it, waves of green and yellow filling the night.”
Ember looked up, observing the sun setting in the same way as it had back then. “He told us those lights were the spirits of those who had died, a great flock of ghosts on their way to finding peace. He said, ‘It is our job to make sure everyone can one day find their way up there, to join that great flock and watch over us. We must use our wings to lift up the broken and the fallen and help them fly. We must carry on and never lose sight of our skies. Will you do that for me?’”
Ember sighed. “I suppose it was just a story, but I believe it had some truth to it. I believe the ones who have left us- not just through death, but just through being far away, or-” He paused, knowing they were all thinking of Marigold. “Or distant in any sense, they are never truly gone. I believe that we should care for each other.”
Wrapping his tail comfortingly around his children, Ember saw the aurora lights come to life in the sky. “So now I pass this tale to you, so that the memory may carry on. Don’t forget it. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes,” replied Thorn. “I promise.”

Regional Differences: Write About Different Versions of the Same Story
Chervil
Life builds itself again upon the remains of the fallen.
As a guardian of the wild, I have witnessed the delicate balance of our environment being disrupted by the actions of the shazarxi. Their misguided attempts to bring ghosts back to life have resulted in unintended consequences, threatening the harmony of our ecosystem. Despite their ignorance, I am compelled to take action to protect the natural world that I hold dear.
With a heavy heart, I have made the difficult decision to confront the shazarxi, even if it means wiping out their species. Though it pains me to resort to such drastic measures, the preservation of our environment must take precedence. I only hope that they will come to understand the consequences of their actions and work towards restoring balance to the world they share with us.

Ember
As a shazarxa, I have always felt a deep connection to the natural world around me. My species possesses the ability to bring ghosts back to life, a gift that we have always believed to be a benevolent act of kindness. However, recent events have cast doubt upon our traditions, as we come to realize the unintended harm that our actions have caused.
Though we shazarxi may not have fully comprehended the consequences of our abilities, we are not malicious beings. We only seek to bring comfort and solace to those who have passed on. The notion of being wiped out by the turtles, our supposed guardians of the wild, is both shocking and disheartening.
I can only hope that we can find a way to reconcile our differences and work together towards a future where all beings, both living and departed, can coexist in harmony.

critique for amber

my style of feedback tends towards questions i would ask if i was writing the story.

Flystar, Skyclan’s gentle leader, flicked his tail, his front legs locked in a pouncing crouch. “The Flameclan rebels are on our side. More importantly, they’re on yours. We need to.”

exciting, right into the action! immediately the reader wonders why members of flameclan are rebelling, and why skyclan is on their side, which makes them want to read on.
add a brief setting description here, to position the characters in a world and develop their relationship. are they at a border, in someone’s den? are they friends meeting like they do each month, or are they only acquaintances or perhaps rivals, making this meeting very strained or irregular?

Webstar, the Thunderclan leader, shifted uneasily before answering, “this is a very sensitive time for Thunderclan. We have five queens in the nursery, including soon-to-be me. This is spelling disaster for the clan. We can’t just send warriors to help rebels from some other clan willy-nilly right now.”

“including soon-to-be me” is a little awkward, i would rephrase along the lines of “and I’ll join them soon”
has thunderclan or skyclan sent warriors to help rebellions in the past? is there tension there, between the leaders or between the older and younger members of their clans?

Flystar breathed deeply. “But Webstar-”

“I know they’re my rebels too. I know! But… I can’t. I’m sorry, Flystar.”

Flystar murmured something, then looked Webstar in the eye. “Forget we had this meeting, then. Your clan has sent a patrol, I’m sure.”

Both cats rolled in a nearby mint plant to cover their scent, then stalked off back towards their respective camps.

oh so it was a secret meeting! integrating some of that tension throughout the scene would help convey the extremity of the situation to the reader, perhaps they are keeping their voices low or frequently looking around to make sure no one is watching?

“All cats old enough to cath their own prey? No, older. All cats old enough to have earned their warrior names, gather around the Time Tree for a clan meeting.”

The Riverclan cats gathered around their leader, who perched in the tallest branch of the tallest tree. “As many of you know, the Flameclan rebels have been looking for aid from another clan. We have decided to aid their revolt under the condition that they will join our clan and any others who may help the revolt.”

until the second paragraph here, it is unclear which clan this scene takes place in (though maybe not to a reader who would understand that the time tree is in riverclan?) more establishment of the shift from skyclan and thunderclan to riverclan would be good for the flow

“Who else is helping? I don’t know yet. It will be discussed at the gathering tonight. All three apprentices and their mentors, so Tawnypaw, Seedpaw, Troutpaw, Plumeheart, Brinebay, and Pupkinclaw, and Aldercoat, and of course my deputy and medcat, Frostlast and Pathfoot respectively, will be in attendance.”

Flystar paused there for a moment to allow the cats to talk amongst themselves before resuming. “Flameclan will not be attending the gathering, as far as we know, so unless I tell you otherwise, any talk of the revolt is allowed. The rebels, of course, will not be in attendance.”

oo a gathering, how intriguing! perhaps mention the coming event in the earlier scene?
is this skyclan or riverclan?
what sorts of reactions are happening in the time when flystar stops to let them talk amongst themselves? are the clan members excited, or nervous? are any of them particularly outspoken with their responses?

“Finally, please send all your apprentices to the elder’s den after this meeting to learn of the revolt before it is discussed tonight. Meeting dismissed.” Flystar surveyed his clanmates as they scampered off. His eyes widened when he noticed a kit, standing on a thick vine.

Its mother, Mousefeather, was right behind it. She scruffed the kit and scolded her. This was a summary of the life of a Skyclan kit. Do something mildly dangerous, get scolded for it. Flystar abandoned his branch and this thought, then strode off for the elder’s den, tail raised high like a flagpole.

i don’t understand this interaction — what is so dangerous about standing on a vine? why doesn’t flystar do anything when he sees the kit standing there? you mentioned in the first line that flystar is gentle, integrating that trait in his interaction with the kit would reinforce it in the eye of the reader.
i like the comparison of his tail being like a flagpole, something associated with power and visibility

“Welcome!” Ridgebane cooed, pleased but surprised to see so many cats show up for a story. In addition to the apprentices, Mousefeather had a kit sat on each front paw. Aldercoat and Brinebay were sitting with their tails touching. Flystar laid his haid on top of Elkhorn, who purred soundly. The cats all looked to Ridgebane, who took a deep breath and started talking.

where is this scene taking place? adding a short “establishing shot” of a den or campfire-like setup would ease the transition (upon reread of the end of the last paragraph, i would add something like “Flystar ducked his head as he entered the crowded den.”)

“Many moons ago, back when I was still an apprentice, three cats went on a patrol, Beantoe, Witherbranch, and Skunkheart. With them went my dear mate Shinepaw and another cat, Frostpaw.”

Ridgebane paused to let the apprentices recognize the name.

“Wow, like Frostlast?” Shockingly, Berrykit is the first one to put it together. “Very good, dearest,” Ridgebane praises, then goes back to the story. “These cats were on the ground. They were on the Flameclan border. The Flameclan patrol on our border took them. We think they went on their own, because when the patrol scented them to the place they crossed the border, there were no signs of a fight. Their scent was mixed with one Flameclan cat.”

“Eventually, Beantoe and Witherbranch had kits. Though Skunkheart also did, with a Flameclan cat. And my dear Shinepaw- well. Shinepaw became mates with their deputy. He told Frostlast at one of the gatherings that he was mates with Laurelbush. Laurelbush was the perfect mate. Powerful, beautiful, and fun too. Rumor has it that Flamestar bribed Shinepaw to join with Laurelbush’s partnership.”

Ridgebane paused for a moment to gather her words, then pressed on. “All three litters of kits, there were ten kits total, didn’t like Flameclan. They didn’t like how evil Flamestar seemed, and they scented that something was off. Meanwhile, apprentices whose parents had also defected to Flameclan were growing up, too. Every one of these apprentices, including Skyclan, and there were around thirty of them, mated with another whose parents had betrayed their home clan. Their parents secretly raised them to hate Flameclan. It is these kits,” Ridgebane crescendoed, “that are revolting.”

To everyone’s shock, it was Berrykit who still had more to say. It was Berrykit who had the confidence to ask the big question. “Frostlast is right out there,” he pointed out. “He didn’t join Flameclan. What happened?”

“Frostlast has never said exactly what happened there, and he never will. I know that Flystar has collected a whole mountain of things to piece together why Frostlast made it back without a scratch, but you kits and apprentices don't need to worry.”

this is an interesting story! i like the detail that a kit is the one willing to ask more questions, just as it is the once kits in the story who are now rebelling. i would love more perspectives from other cats on the story, what do they think about the rebellion and their clan’s involvement with it?

on the whole, this was a very fun read! i enjoyed the conflicts you are setting up and am certainly intrigued by the characters. i think considering the questions i asked could lead you to some interesting places with the characters and their relationships. thanks for letting me read it!

-lxve-bug- wrote:

pup's thread (boy am i late :skull: )


AYYYY IM 100TH LMAO

daily <33 +239 words
I wish I was able to open up more. I wish I was less mean. I’m so different in real life compared to online and I wish that wasn’t the case. I wish I was able to trust people more. I wish I wasn’t so unhappy most of the time. I wish I didn’t procrastinate, I wish my room was less messy, I wish, I wish, I wish. But it’s about time I stopped wishing and started doing something, and I think I have been. I’ve been more open with my girlfriend (I think?) and I’ve noticed I’ve been a bit happier lately, but will it last? Maybe it’s my room that’s getting to me, I really should clean it, but I’ve been procrastinating on that. I’ve been doing other things that make me happy instead. But cleaning my room will make me happy because it’ll be clean, but drawing and writing makes me happy too. There’s just no time to do everything. But maybe if I had better time management… Maybe I just need to step back, see what’s not working and fix it. I think I’ve been doing that but I can’t even tell if it’s working. I can’t just keep telling myself that I can fix everything. But if that’s what it takes to stop spiraling all the time, so be it. I really, really need to get myself together. Everything is under control. I think.

Daily for March 11th

It was the day after Kennedy had arrived at camp. She had gone off with some other children of Apollo, presumably to practice archery and see which of their father’s talents she was best at. Jade scoffed, kicking at the sand.
She was sitting next to the water, combat boots digging into the damp sand. She was thinking over some things. She hadn’t had much quiet since arriving at camp last year, but now everyone else was off doing some silly camp game, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the soft sound of waves washing up against the land.
Swish. Swish.
Jade felt she hadn’t done enough. It was already March, and she hadn’t done anything remotely productive. She had been putting things off. She did that a lot, she realized as she reflected on the past year, since she had come to camp. Her hand went to the clay beads on the necklace around her throat, and the divination card in the pocket in front of her heart, given to her from her godly mother.
She stared across the lake, watching tiny figures fight griffins and who knows what else in the woods. A wave swept up from behind someone she identified as a Poseidon kid and washed through the forest.
Jade stood up, brushing sand from her jeans. She began to make her way over to the armory. She WOULD help the others this time, instead of leaving them to fend for themselves. She wondered if her battle axes were finished yet. If not, she would just have to find something else to use.
She spotted a figure making their way towards her, yelling and generally sounding extremely obnoxious. Jade turned, wondering who it could be as a short, blonde-haired girl slammed into her.
“Hey, what was that?!”
She looked down at Kennedy. She stared back up at her. “Jade, c’mon, the Apollo cabin needs help! We were in second place, but then there was this Drakon and-“
Jade blinked, then started towards the armory, running fast. This was her chance.
She would do something, and finally finish what she had started when she had chosen to come here.
Now was the time.

Word count: 368

Daily for 3/11
This is about how I am thankful for having friends who care about me
+249 words

Abby swung open the door to her grandparent's apartment with a sigh. When she stepped in she could see that everything was an absolute mess with clothes strewn about, dishes in the sink, and her books all over the coffee table. Ever since her dad had ended up in the hospital she had let her apartment become a dumpster fire. “Great, now I've got to clean this up” she muttered, picking up some clothes. By the time she had cleaned up completely, it was around midnight. All Abby wanted to do was curl up under a blanket and wake up from the nightmare that was her life. She flopped down and checked her phone. As she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch around herself she could see that it was a text from Dylan. Curious to see what the text was about, she opened her phone. She went into her messages and clicked on Dylan's contact. When Abby opened she saw a text saying “Hey, I know that you have been going through a lot lately with your dad in the hospital. I just wanted to tell you that I'm here for you and I'm ready to listen any time you need to talk. Just remember that me and everybody else cares about you.” She looked at her phone with a smile and felt a sense of peace wash over her. It felt good to know that other people cared about her and how she felt.

Critique
@spriingtea :: fantasy
word count - 654 words

Roses are rocks,
Violets are violas,
You’re crazy!
A WCE

First off, I've got to say that I love the title! It's simple, yet still carries a lot of meaning about the what you talk about in the rest of the WCE - also, I just love the vibes :sparkles:

Once upon a fairy tail, there was a shapeshifter who was in disprite need of holp.
I think the spelling needs some fixing.

Ok, so I think that the spelling errors are put in place to act as verbal irony in some sense - but if that was not the intention, I'd recommend going through the spelling for this section for words like “fairy tale”, “desperate”, and “help”. Though honestly, I think you should leave it like this because it follows the “abnormality/insane” sense that you're kind of going for, which honestly makes this piece make even more sense if you get what I mean ;D

That’s it folks, this is a very short story about a crazy shapeshifter who jumps of a building because #&@&!&@(*(!$*^ (aka YOU HAVE TO READ THE STORY).

Ok! So this is just me, but I think that this line would be better if you reword like this:
“That's it folks! This is just a very short story about a crazy shapeshifter who jumps of a (continue with the original)” – I feel like adding that slight change adds more sarcasm to the text, which again, follows along with the vibe I think you're trying to create. Though feel free to disregard this suggestion, as it's purely personal preference <3

That would be me… I’m not crazy by magic standards, but by human standards.

This sentence kind of seems incomplete (especially due to where its located in the story). It seems like there's a lot of build up, but then this sentence is cut short. I feel like the exposition that you have is really nice, and plays a crucial role in what comes later on! That being said, I'd recommend adding this: “That would be me… I'm not crazy by magic standards, but by human standards, I'm kind of a misfit.” – it doesn't have to be those words exactly, but I feel like you should add something at the end of this phrase to make it more complete!

Before you call me crazy, this wasn’t my idea, it was my manager, Violet (who is NOT a viola, she might be a violin though). She’s a pretty good tracker and so I almost trust her completely.

There's nothing wrong with this phrase, but I think you can change up the wording a bit to add more personality to your character's voice! I'd recommend something like this:
“Before you call me crazy, just know that this was never my idea to begin with. It was my manager, Violet (who is NOT a viola, she might be a violin though), who wanted to pull of this caper. (and then continue on with what you had)”. It again, could just be me, but I feel like breaking up those two sentences can provide more clarity to the fact that your protagonist doesn't want to go through with the mission.

A pizza box slammed my face. I screamed a string of curse words in a magical language that involved guinea pigs and hippos. I got ready to shapeshift into the craziest creature possible if I needed to or a pigeon. Dragons would attract way too much attention. Pigeon it is I guess. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, fall down!” I screamed as I started to fall. Some humans noticed someone falling in a bright colored t-shirt and started screaming. I went from flailing to a perfect dive. “10 seconds to impact, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, SPLAT!” I screamed as I disappeared through the floor.

I loved the exposition in this section! It perfectly explained everything going on, and truly kept me captivated the whole time I was reading One thing I would suggest is revising to find some places to add more descriptions and detail (for example: “I went from flailing in midair to completing a perfect dive.”) - this just helps with the overall imagery that the reader will be able to associate with your piece of writing.

I think I should add a conclusion statement. Here it is, “Roses are magical stones (or rocks), violets are violas, and I’m not insane (don’t you dare say ‘You’re crazy’).” If you would like to hear about the things that are another story (roses + violas) or the sequel, which may or may not be even more insane, just ask me.

AHAH this is the perfect ending <3 I honestly loved reading everything above this portion a lot - all the dialogue was really relatable in terms of waiting, and I loved the little jokes you included here and there! As for the ending, I feel like your story came full circle with that ending ramble - it felt like your story had started and ended off the same, but it had left me feeling wholesome ;D

Overall
Spring! I have to say that overall this was genuinely such an amazing story to read - like I said before, the starting and ending connect so much that it feels like the whole story comes full circle! Although I'd recommend changing some phrasing as well as sentence structure here and there, the general idea is outstanding and I can't wait to read the sequel ;D Great work, and keep it up! (let me know when you share the next part <3)

Word War
word count - 175

Dear Diary,

I know I've been using a lot more these days, but please bear with me.
I'm going through a rough patch in my life, and no ones listening! It's as if I'm an invisible human being who apparently shouldn't have any feelings or emotions. If I do, they're immediately silenced, as if I don't matter. Yes, it hurts. Day after day, night after night - hearing the same thing repeated to me hurts. It makes me feel worthless, like I don't have a place in this world. And honestly, maybe I don't.. and I'm fine with that. But that's no excuse to be treated this way. I wouldn't even wish this on my worst enemy which is really saying something at this point.

Times are tough, and all I really need is someone to lean on. Someone that will take me in with open arms, and will always be there through the highs and lows. I know I'm living in this unrealistic fantasy, but part of me just wishes it would be true. Honestly,

“if my life was a movie, I wouldn't be the main character.”

Daily 11
word count - 349 words

Sometimes I tend to forget my worth, and just how special I am in this world. Yeah, it doesn't help to be reminded of all the things you should be good at, or feel pressure when no ones actually pushing down on your shoulders. It's so weird to think that you have “a stress-free” life, but isn't that just what others think? They don't understand just how much stress is put on one person, just because of those thoughts that seem harmless at the start. It's tiring, trying to be your best when you're continuously pushed down. At home, people think your school life is perfect, and at school, people think your home life is perfect. But truth be told, nothing is, and nothing ever will be.

What matters is realizing just how much of an impact you have on others - even though you don't think it's significant, there are numerous others in the world who would like to think otherwise. Those are the people you should surround yourself with, because they're not going to tear you down - they're going to help you lift yourself to new heights that would never have been possible if you didn't believe in yourself.

Note to reader - I have no clue where I went with for this daily XD I feel like everyone in this world struggles with a sense of belonging; there's always going to be something that we're going through, that we don't want to share with others. Honestly, this daily was supposed to shine light on that - it's ok to not want to share or open up about some things (I like to keep some things confined as well), but in the end, there are going to be those certain stars in your world, who will help to illuminate your life even in your darkest times. So yeah, it ended up turning out to be this inspirational TED talk or something ;D (but regardless, I hope you enjoyed this daily and I wish you all the best for your future endeavors <3 I'll be cheering you on from the sidelines!)

Essay 001: Why Sienna Is Not A (Tinker)Goat

Fact 1: Sienna had an entire conversation with Tinkergoat and it sounded like a very normal conversation. Plus, Sienna remarked during the conversation that Tinkergoat sounded like Chloe. Tinkergoat also expressed a desire to frame Sienna as Tinkergoat, which is exactly what Chloe tried to do. Chloe wrote an essay on why Sienna is a goat here.
Hypothesis 1: Chloe is Tinkergoat.
Evidence of the conversation can be found here. It certainly is a possibility that Chloe is a goat, as both Tinkergoat and Chloe support poison apples, and Chloe also wrote an essay attempting to frame Sienna as a goat, found here.
Fact 2: Mouse thinks that Sienna is not Tinkergoat. You can find the evidence in this comment thread. However, Mouse does think Sienna is a goat. She offers the slightly vague suggestion that Tinkergoat is Tinkergoat is Tinkergoat.
Hypothesis 2: MOUSE is secretly Tinkergoat.
We all know that Mouse is very chaotic and has been involved with the Fairy Tales cabin drama before this. No one would ever suspect Mouse of being Tinkergoat because she's in a different cabin, and she could create all the chaos she wanted while her identity remained shadowy. Mouse has made secret accounts before (think Mangoes and Mayhem!) and she would relish the chance to create chaos. Also, Mouse answered for Tinkergoat when Poppy asked Tinkergoat what he had eaten recently.
Fact 3: There are two other goat accounts, Flounder and Fern. Idk who Fern is but judging from the aesthetic set on Flounder's account I think Flounder is Alana.
Fact 4: Tinkergoat is following Sienna.
Hypothesis 3: Sienna is not Tinkergoat unless she followed herself to make it look less suspicious.
Hypothesis 4: Bella is Tinkergoat.
No explanation.
Hypothesis 5: Tinkergoat is a shared account between Mouse and Bella, who thought it would be a funny prank to play on the poor SWCers.
Also no explanation.
Conclusion: Sienna is probably not Tinkergoat, Chloe might be Tinkergoat, Mouse might be Tinkergoat, Bella might be Tinkergoat, and they both might be Tinkergoat.
Thank you for reading my very well-thought-out and full-of-answers essay on why Sienna is not a (Tinker)goat.

Daily 007: 102 words, Three Word Stories
I wanted to have something to fill the gap in my table of contents, so I finally made the post for the words I wrote during the three word stories daily

the sagging plants
asks with concern,
to wash him
hold the hose
and now I'm
yourself you want
sands of time
broken dreams and
in and says
because they're so
nearing–but don't
have emergency mangoes
us from any
melting chocolate bar.
for good reason
clock taunting me
the dawn breaks
to take a
and then we'll
i swallowed and
falls like glass
that no one
Fate is a
frederick alexander banana
twisted threads and
could not see
and ripples and
laugh and scream
up. they turn
know, but underneath
the past revealed
rotten and smelly
just lay down
really really smelly