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- xXFierroOrFalafelXx
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Ides of march daily
Lachlan carried a large stack of books over to where Ignatius and Sequoia were working, trying to decode the messages. “Ok how long is it going to take to find out what my dad is looking for?” he snapped at them.
“Hey, are you sure you want to be doing this?” Ignatius asked.
“What else would I be doing?” Lachlan asked in annoyance.
“Well… someone did tell you that you’re going to die today.”
“Based on the number of people who want me dead so my dad can carry out his job, of course people threaten me. Listen, I’m not going to die today and I’m definitely not going to sit around worrying about it. We’re doing enough sitting around as is.”
He pushed one of the books toward Sequoia. “I don’t care about much, but I care about this. So start reading.” He took his seat and grabbed a different book. He didn’t have the knowledge of linguistics or tons of different writing systems and glyphs that Sequoia and Ignatius had, but he had the ability to read behind lines. And nobody knew his father better than him.
Less than two weeks ago all he’d really wanted was to make his father happy. He didn’t expect him to be proud or even to love him, he wasn’t stupid, but despite all of his rebellious attitude and mantra of “I don’t give a d*mn,” it had been safest to be on his father’s side.
Then he found out why he’d always been moving as a kid, why his mom left when he was little. It had never been his fault. No, his dad was part of some crazy c*lt and whatever their plan was, it had something to do with unleashing ghosts onto earth.
Sequoia got up to find a reference for Coptic, and Ignatius leaned over, with worry in his soft golden eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay Lachlan?”
“All my life, he ruined all of it, and now I-I don’t…” he cleared his throat. “I know that life kind of sucks, but I haven’t done anything yet. Not really.”
Ignatius squeezed his hand and Lachlan held it gratefully, tracing the familiar bones that freckle dead center on Ignatius’s knuckles. “I’m not letting you die too easily. Alright?”
“There’s no need for you to try any stupid chivalry of fighting against fate or whatever you call it or telling me I need to fight. I’m telling you, I’m not going to die today because if there is such a thing as destiny, my destiny is to watch my father burn.
Sequoia ran back, waving the book triumphantly. “I know where Gideon is!”
Lachlan carried a large stack of books over to where Ignatius and Sequoia were working, trying to decode the messages. “Ok how long is it going to take to find out what my dad is looking for?” he snapped at them.
“Hey, are you sure you want to be doing this?” Ignatius asked.
“What else would I be doing?” Lachlan asked in annoyance.
“Well… someone did tell you that you’re going to die today.”
“Based on the number of people who want me dead so my dad can carry out his job, of course people threaten me. Listen, I’m not going to die today and I’m definitely not going to sit around worrying about it. We’re doing enough sitting around as is.”
He pushed one of the books toward Sequoia. “I don’t care about much, but I care about this. So start reading.” He took his seat and grabbed a different book. He didn’t have the knowledge of linguistics or tons of different writing systems and glyphs that Sequoia and Ignatius had, but he had the ability to read behind lines. And nobody knew his father better than him.
Less than two weeks ago all he’d really wanted was to make his father happy. He didn’t expect him to be proud or even to love him, he wasn’t stupid, but despite all of his rebellious attitude and mantra of “I don’t give a d*mn,” it had been safest to be on his father’s side.
Then he found out why he’d always been moving as a kid, why his mom left when he was little. It had never been his fault. No, his dad was part of some crazy c*lt and whatever their plan was, it had something to do with unleashing ghosts onto earth.
Sequoia got up to find a reference for Coptic, and Ignatius leaned over, with worry in his soft golden eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay Lachlan?”
“All my life, he ruined all of it, and now I-I don’t…” he cleared his throat. “I know that life kind of sucks, but I haven’t done anything yet. Not really.”
Ignatius squeezed his hand and Lachlan held it gratefully, tracing the familiar bones that freckle dead center on Ignatius’s knuckles. “I’m not letting you die too easily. Alright?”
“There’s no need for you to try any stupid chivalry of fighting against fate or whatever you call it or telling me I need to fight. I’m telling you, I’m not going to die today because if there is such a thing as destiny, my destiny is to watch my father burn.
Sequoia ran back, waving the book triumphantly. “I know where Gideon is!”
- -NightGlow-
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Daily 15
word count - 468 words
It was on my walk back home that the air seemed scarce - a doomsday let's say. Dark clouds were forming in the sky, as if getting ready for downpour and the pleasant sounds that normally surrounded my neighborhood has vanished for some weird reason. I had never seen everything this gloomy.. maybe the world had always been this dark, and I had never noticed since my happiness helped be soar over my troubles. Why was it any different now though? What had changed about me as a person, about the world as a planet, to cause this? As I trembled towards my doorstep I could feel a chill going down my spine.
There, right behind me, stood a dark hooded figure. I could sense an ominous tone for their appearance at our once calm neighborhood, but I pretended to ignore it. Still scared, I peered at it once more, hoping for a second glimpse, but it was gone- it had vanished from sight. I thought that I was going insane, hallucinating these things or something. I wanted to just climb into my bed and hope this nightmare of a dream would just be over and that I could wake up again to a beautiful world where the sun was shining.
Not thinking much more of it, I reached for my door knob. Just as I was turning it, I noticed a piece of paper - all nicely folded - left exactly where that mysterious figure had appeared not too long back. Now getting curious, I rushed over to the piece of paper to take a closer look. As I began to unfold it, ink began spilling out, until finally, it stopped. The note read:
Dear Lara,
It is with my most deepest regrets that I must tell you that you shall die today. Or wait- I mean, I don't regret it much after all. You didn't play much of a role in my life..
Anyways! The Immortal Ones have chosen you to be the next sacrifice in this world to ensure that we can continue living. I'm sorry to have not given you much prior notice regarding this, but I'm sure you understand that there's not much any of us could do.
I have to keep this note short, because, I'd like to assume that you want to enjoy the little bit of life you have left. We'll be there to get you at around midnight. Not much for you to do from your part, but I just wanted to give you a forewarning!\
Love,
Death.
As the note fell to the ground, I couldn't breathe one bit. Taking some deep breathes, I comforted myself. This was probably just another prank someone was trying to play on me. Since when did The Immortal Ones choose sacrifices?
Or so I thought…
word count - 468 words
It was on my walk back home that the air seemed scarce - a doomsday let's say. Dark clouds were forming in the sky, as if getting ready for downpour and the pleasant sounds that normally surrounded my neighborhood has vanished for some weird reason. I had never seen everything this gloomy.. maybe the world had always been this dark, and I had never noticed since my happiness helped be soar over my troubles. Why was it any different now though? What had changed about me as a person, about the world as a planet, to cause this? As I trembled towards my doorstep I could feel a chill going down my spine.
There, right behind me, stood a dark hooded figure. I could sense an ominous tone for their appearance at our once calm neighborhood, but I pretended to ignore it. Still scared, I peered at it once more, hoping for a second glimpse, but it was gone- it had vanished from sight. I thought that I was going insane, hallucinating these things or something. I wanted to just climb into my bed and hope this nightmare of a dream would just be over and that I could wake up again to a beautiful world where the sun was shining.
Not thinking much more of it, I reached for my door knob. Just as I was turning it, I noticed a piece of paper - all nicely folded - left exactly where that mysterious figure had appeared not too long back. Now getting curious, I rushed over to the piece of paper to take a closer look. As I began to unfold it, ink began spilling out, until finally, it stopped. The note read:
Dear Lara,
It is with my most deepest regrets that I must tell you that you shall die today. Or wait- I mean, I don't regret it much after all. You didn't play much of a role in my life..
Anyways! The Immortal Ones have chosen you to be the next sacrifice in this world to ensure that we can continue living. I'm sorry to have not given you much prior notice regarding this, but I'm sure you understand that there's not much any of us could do.
I have to keep this note short, because, I'd like to assume that you want to enjoy the little bit of life you have left. We'll be there to get you at around midnight. Not much for you to do from your part, but I just wanted to give you a forewarning!\
Love,
Death.
As the note fell to the ground, I couldn't breathe one bit. Taking some deep breathes, I comforted myself. This was probably just another prank someone was trying to play on me. Since when did The Immortal Ones choose sacrifices?
Or so I thought…
- smalltoe
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
daily 15 march
614 words
yes i used this daily as an excuse to write they both die at the end fanfiction ahfafjvnkvf
When I hear the ringtone, I forget to breathe.
No. No! This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening. Chills sweep down my body in waves, as dots of static begin to fill my vision. I wouldn’t have been able to pick up the phone even if I tried — I am frozen in place, paralysed in my fear. Perhaps my ears are tricking me, I tell myself. After all, I can’t hear anything else over the pounding of my unforgettably mortal heart, roaring in my ears.
I look up. Every head on the train has swivelled in my direction.
“That’s— that’s Death-Cast.” Piper, sitting beside me, rasps. “Rose, is that for you?”
So I didn’t imagine it, then.
“No. Can’t be,” I say, stumbling over the words, my voice unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. A disbelieving laugh rips from my throat. “This is a mistake. They have the wrong person.”
“Death-Cast never calls the wrong person,” someone whispers from a few seats down — loud enough for everyone in the carriage to hear.
“No,” I can’t stop shaking my head. “No. I’m healthy. I have so much to live for. I’m not going to— they’ve got the wrong person!”
No one contradicts me. They must agree. They must agree that this is all wrong, that this can’t be happening, that this is a mistake. A mistake.
I reach into my bag, fumbling around for my phone. When I pull it out, I see that my hands are shaking violently. Or maybe that’s just the phone vibrating, vibrating, vibrating with the call that will tell me I’m about to die.
The screen lights up as it recognises my face. I squeeze my eyes shut, tight. That way I don’t need to look at the name of the caller — Death-Cast, the dooming words jarringly out of place on my own phone screen, in my hands, in my life.
What if I really am dying today?
No. No no no no no. It’s a simple mistake the callers have made. I’ll hang up and then I’ll report the problem to someone and they’ll get it fixed and I’ll keep on living a long life. That’s what will happen.
My fingers find the off button on the side of my phone, and I hold it down, crushing it with all my strength, until the screen flickers dark. I drop the phone back into my bag.
I glance over at Piper, offering her a tense smile.
She doesn’t smile back. “Rose,” she starts, but I cut her off.
“There’s nothing to worry about. They got the wrong person.”
“We did not ‘get the wrong person’.”
The Reaper was waiting for us as soon as we stepped off the train. The rest of the platform is empty — everyone else must have fled when they saw it. Its cloak billows in the wind.
“But this is a mistake. I’m not going to die. You’ve got the wrong person.” I repeat.
“I’m afraid we do not.” The Reaper says. Its voice sounds tired. “As you’ve probably guessed, I am employed by Death-Cast. And I’ve got five other people who’ve also missed their calls that I need to chase up. So let’s keep this quick. Is this Rosalinn Grey?”
“Yes, but—”
“Rosalinn Grey, what our Death-Cast caller you so rudely hung up on earlier was trying to tell you is that you are going to die within the next twenty-four hours.”
“This is a prank, right?” I spit. “It’s not funny. Go away.”
“Rose, this isn’t—”
“Shut up!” I push Piper away, roughly. She stumbles, hurt dawning in her eyes. Why can’t she see? This is all a trick.
It’s not real. It’s not.
(somewhat unfinished)
614 words
yes i used this daily as an excuse to write they both die at the end fanfiction ahfafjvnkvf
When I hear the ringtone, I forget to breathe.
No. No! This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening. Chills sweep down my body in waves, as dots of static begin to fill my vision. I wouldn’t have been able to pick up the phone even if I tried — I am frozen in place, paralysed in my fear. Perhaps my ears are tricking me, I tell myself. After all, I can’t hear anything else over the pounding of my unforgettably mortal heart, roaring in my ears.
I look up. Every head on the train has swivelled in my direction.
“That’s— that’s Death-Cast.” Piper, sitting beside me, rasps. “Rose, is that for you?”
So I didn’t imagine it, then.
“No. Can’t be,” I say, stumbling over the words, my voice unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. A disbelieving laugh rips from my throat. “This is a mistake. They have the wrong person.”
“Death-Cast never calls the wrong person,” someone whispers from a few seats down — loud enough for everyone in the carriage to hear.
“No,” I can’t stop shaking my head. “No. I’m healthy. I have so much to live for. I’m not going to— they’ve got the wrong person!”
No one contradicts me. They must agree. They must agree that this is all wrong, that this can’t be happening, that this is a mistake. A mistake.
I reach into my bag, fumbling around for my phone. When I pull it out, I see that my hands are shaking violently. Or maybe that’s just the phone vibrating, vibrating, vibrating with the call that will tell me I’m about to die.
The screen lights up as it recognises my face. I squeeze my eyes shut, tight. That way I don’t need to look at the name of the caller — Death-Cast, the dooming words jarringly out of place on my own phone screen, in my hands, in my life.
What if I really am dying today?
No. No no no no no. It’s a simple mistake the callers have made. I’ll hang up and then I’ll report the problem to someone and they’ll get it fixed and I’ll keep on living a long life. That’s what will happen.
My fingers find the off button on the side of my phone, and I hold it down, crushing it with all my strength, until the screen flickers dark. I drop the phone back into my bag.
I glance over at Piper, offering her a tense smile.
She doesn’t smile back. “Rose,” she starts, but I cut her off.
“There’s nothing to worry about. They got the wrong person.”
“We did not ‘get the wrong person’.”
The Reaper was waiting for us as soon as we stepped off the train. The rest of the platform is empty — everyone else must have fled when they saw it. Its cloak billows in the wind.
“But this is a mistake. I’m not going to die. You’ve got the wrong person.” I repeat.
“I’m afraid we do not.” The Reaper says. Its voice sounds tired. “As you’ve probably guessed, I am employed by Death-Cast. And I’ve got five other people who’ve also missed their calls that I need to chase up. So let’s keep this quick. Is this Rosalinn Grey?”
“Yes, but—”
“Rosalinn Grey, what our Death-Cast caller you so rudely hung up on earlier was trying to tell you is that you are going to die within the next twenty-four hours.”
“This is a prank, right?” I spit. “It’s not funny. Go away.”
“Rose, this isn’t—”
“Shut up!” I push Piper away, roughly. She stumbles, hurt dawning in her eyes. Why can’t she see? This is all a trick.
It’s not real. It’s not.
(somewhat unfinished)
- silverlynx-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Haunted
I stepped forwards tentatively, my heart thrumming in my chest. I breathed in shakily, my lower lip wobbling in fear. Something floated in front of me, its form wavering at the slightest breeze. I couldn’t make out its features, but there was something about this creature that chilled me to the bone. I swallowed. It came closer, gently reaching out a transparent hand towards me. The eerie creature had a strange glowing aura around it and a dark hooded cloak shadowed its face. It was close.
A hollow knock penetrated fear into me and my blood turned to ice. It knocked again. And again. My teeth chattered and I slowly clenched my fists until they were a startling white. Murmurs formed in the air around me and the air rippled like water, thoughts whirled at lightning speed through my terrified mind; I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood flowing into my mouth. Were these… ghosts? I waved the thought away. Ghosts couldn’t be real! Could they?
A bright flash of light blinded me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping desperately it would all be just one, horrific nightmare. But when I opened my eyes, it wasn’t. The light had gone, leaving a hole of gaping darkness floating in mid-air. From that churning black streamed many more hooded creatures, concealed by their swirling cloaks. I looked down. My hands were a dull white and see-through. These were definitely ghosts. And so was I.
I stepped forwards tentatively, my heart thrumming in my chest. I breathed in shakily, my lower lip wobbling in fear. Something floated in front of me, its form wavering at the slightest breeze. I couldn’t make out its features, but there was something about this creature that chilled me to the bone. I swallowed. It came closer, gently reaching out a transparent hand towards me. The eerie creature had a strange glowing aura around it and a dark hooded cloak shadowed its face. It was close.
A hollow knock penetrated fear into me and my blood turned to ice. It knocked again. And again. My teeth chattered and I slowly clenched my fists until they were a startling white. Murmurs formed in the air around me and the air rippled like water, thoughts whirled at lightning speed through my terrified mind; I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood flowing into my mouth. Were these… ghosts? I waved the thought away. Ghosts couldn’t be real! Could they?
A bright flash of light blinded me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping desperately it would all be just one, horrific nightmare. But when I opened my eyes, it wasn’t. The light had gone, leaving a hole of gaping darkness floating in mid-air. From that churning black streamed many more hooded creatures, concealed by their swirling cloaks. I looked down. My hands were a dull white and see-through. These were definitely ghosts. And so was I.
- ChueyTheCat
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Daily 015: 400 words, My Motivation Died
Best day ever.
Not.
She stared at the screen, shaking her head. This was it. It was really going to be over.
Her motivation was dying, and nothing could revive it.
In a haze, she closed the computer and stood up, staring at her hands. Even when she opened the computer again and tried to tap out a quick story, her hands were slow, sluggish, her brain empty.
What was she going to do? No way could she finish her writing tasks this way. But the cloaked figure had been very clear about their statement. Before the day was out, her motivation would die completely and totally. Swallowing hard, she closed the computer again and wondered what to do. Homework, of course…but no, she needed something else, something that would revive her incentive to be creative. She tried painting, but the colors weren’t working right, and she didn’t know what to paint, in any case. She tried playing piano, but she didn’t know how to do that anyway, and it was a dead failure. She tried making crafts, baking, even melting chocolate chips in the microwave and trying to make candy, but nothing worked. She left everything half finished and went to go binge Bluey instead.
As the day wore on she mourned her motivation more and more. She was dying to be creative, but all her creative juices were dried up completely! It was such a tragedy that she ended up lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how sad it was and doing nothing else. Surely there had to be a way she could fix this, reverse the process, make things normal again.
But even when she sat down and tried to write again, the words simply would not flow. What could she possibly do?
Nothing.
She could do nothing. She was becoming totally uncreative! This was so bad! Soon she’d be, like, paying taxes or something.
Did creative people pay taxes? She didn’t know. Her knowledge of taxes was hazy.
Except wait. The dude in the cloak had said her motivation would die. Motivation and creativity weren’t connected! At least, not too much.
This felt very odd, but before she could consider it too much, everything went dark.
The narrator smiled and pulled the hood down more. Soon. So soon, the narrator would be released. She just had to write one more word…
author's note: i was gonna do something really dramatic and sad
but then
this dude in a cloak showed up-
Best day ever.
Not.
She stared at the screen, shaking her head. This was it. It was really going to be over.
Her motivation was dying, and nothing could revive it.
In a haze, she closed the computer and stood up, staring at her hands. Even when she opened the computer again and tried to tap out a quick story, her hands were slow, sluggish, her brain empty.
What was she going to do? No way could she finish her writing tasks this way. But the cloaked figure had been very clear about their statement. Before the day was out, her motivation would die completely and totally. Swallowing hard, she closed the computer again and wondered what to do. Homework, of course…but no, she needed something else, something that would revive her incentive to be creative. She tried painting, but the colors weren’t working right, and she didn’t know what to paint, in any case. She tried playing piano, but she didn’t know how to do that anyway, and it was a dead failure. She tried making crafts, baking, even melting chocolate chips in the microwave and trying to make candy, but nothing worked. She left everything half finished and went to go binge Bluey instead.
As the day wore on she mourned her motivation more and more. She was dying to be creative, but all her creative juices were dried up completely! It was such a tragedy that she ended up lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how sad it was and doing nothing else. Surely there had to be a way she could fix this, reverse the process, make things normal again.
But even when she sat down and tried to write again, the words simply would not flow. What could she possibly do?
Nothing.
She could do nothing. She was becoming totally uncreative! This was so bad! Soon she’d be, like, paying taxes or something.
Did creative people pay taxes? She didn’t know. Her knowledge of taxes was hazy.
Except wait. The dude in the cloak had said her motivation would die. Motivation and creativity weren’t connected! At least, not too much.
This felt very odd, but before she could consider it too much, everything went dark.
The narrator smiled and pulled the hood down more. Soon. So soon, the narrator would be released. She just had to write one more word…
author's note: i was gonna do something really dramatic and sad
but then
this dude in a cloak showed up-
- Rey_venclaw
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
The figure haunts my dreams every night. I know he’ll never go away. After so long, I’ve started to get used to it. I’ve started to become numb to the pain of these nightly dreams, in which a mysterious figure informs me of something to happen in the coming day. Something that could possibly cause my death. There’s always something. There’s always a possibility I will die that day. And when I finally do, when I finally fail to find a solution, an escape, I’ll know it’s coming. I’ll know my time is up.
The figure tells me he knows which day, which event, it is that finally undoes me. But he won’t say. “My lips are sealed,” he tells me, in an almost mocking manner. I’ve learned to stop asking.
“It is close,” he says one night, unprompted. His death possibility for the day is a bicycle accident, which is one that crops up every couple months. It’s also one of the easiest to avoid, though. I just don’t ride my bike.
I’m confident it’s not today. I’ve left my bicycle at home and I’ve avoided major roads where I may run into someone else on a bike. I’ve thought this through carefully and noticed the figure never said it was my bike, nor did he specify whether it was my accident.
So I’ve taken every precaution to avoid any possibility of an accident in my proximity, especially today since he says it’s close. He’s never said that before, not in all my thirty-seven years with him as constant companion.
“What if I’m wrong?” His voice suddenly whispers in my ear. That’s never happened before. No-one is beside me.
He’s not wrong, I tell myself, though I am beginning to doubt.
The next day, I don’t take his warning seriously. I don’t die.
So I keep it up. Eventually I start going everything in my power to cause exactly what he says to happen. I survive every time.
When I finally die, its been four years of this defiance. And the thing is, he was right. I die of illness. I’m in the hospital, and I’m alone. This is what he told me would happen in the first ever dream, back when I was a tiny boy of nine years old. All my worrying was for nothing. My fate had been decided all along. And here I am, no longer here.
The figure tells me he knows which day, which event, it is that finally undoes me. But he won’t say. “My lips are sealed,” he tells me, in an almost mocking manner. I’ve learned to stop asking.
“It is close,” he says one night, unprompted. His death possibility for the day is a bicycle accident, which is one that crops up every couple months. It’s also one of the easiest to avoid, though. I just don’t ride my bike.
I’m confident it’s not today. I’ve left my bicycle at home and I’ve avoided major roads where I may run into someone else on a bike. I’ve thought this through carefully and noticed the figure never said it was my bike, nor did he specify whether it was my accident.
So I’ve taken every precaution to avoid any possibility of an accident in my proximity, especially today since he says it’s close. He’s never said that before, not in all my thirty-seven years with him as constant companion.
“What if I’m wrong?” His voice suddenly whispers in my ear. That’s never happened before. No-one is beside me.
He’s not wrong, I tell myself, though I am beginning to doubt.
The next day, I don’t take his warning seriously. I don’t die.
So I keep it up. Eventually I start going everything in my power to cause exactly what he says to happen. I survive every time.
When I finally die, its been four years of this defiance. And the thing is, he was right. I die of illness. I’m in the hospital, and I’m alone. This is what he told me would happen in the first ever dream, back when I was a tiny boy of nine years old. All my worrying was for nothing. My fate had been decided all along. And here I am, no longer here.
- 1lMaM
-
Scratcher
87 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
16th OF MARCH DAILY
537 WORDS
Death comes in a black cloak, grinning its face off. “I’ve been waiting for you,” it whispers.
I jump back, my legs shaking. I blink, twice, three times, feel the smooth timber wall behind me. It’s real. I can’t run, I can’t hide. I just have to stay, frozen, hoping beyond desperation that I melt into the wall as the figure glides closer.
“Do you know why I’m here?” it whispers. Its voice is surprisingly smooth.
“No.”
Its smile grows. “You’ll soon find out.”
My heart thumps, loud and quick like a marching band, my hands shaking, everything shaking. Death creeps closer. I back towards the door, step by step, until I feel the cold glass behind my fingers. I push the door back, slide out, slam it behind me.
“You’re going to die today,” it says. “You can’t escape. But I won’t-”
Jean walks out of her office. “Hi, Mary! How are you today?”
Does she not see me shaking all over? Does she not hear my teeth chattering? Does she not feel the air compressing from the figure behind me?
I smile. “I’m okay, what about you?”
“I’m great!” She glances at her watch. “Oh, got to go. See you around!”
She walks away. “See you round,” I mutter.
I back away from the door, pressing against the wall. The figure reaches out a grey hand and pushes it open. Its grin is gone. “Look, it’s fine. You’ll only die at four. And it’s still ten-thirty! Plenty of time to live.”
Less than a workday. Not exactly plenty of time.
So I’ll be fine, then. So I can just work, talk, eat, live with a cloud of doom hanging over my head. Tentatively, I reach for the door handle and push it slowly forward, going straight through the figure. I walk into the room. I just need to try to live.
I sit back at my computer, the fabric seat soft as always, the keys big and hard to press as always, the window showing a perfectly normal skyscraper, blocking the view as always. I open Word and begin typing, a stream of words, words and sentences and paragraphs. Just like any other day. But today I’m going to die. Shouldn’t it be different?
Hours of monotony pass, words upon words, messages, and notifications. I get up to stretch my legs, out of my office, out of the building. I glance at my watch. 3:28. Walking to my car, I unlock it, grab the steering wheel, and drive away. If Death wants me, it’ll have to go a long way.
Thirty minutes later, I sit at the wheel, staring at the red traffic light. Cars turn left and right beside me. The light goes green, and I hit the accelerator. Another car does the same, turning right from in front of me, turning towards me. I hit the brake. They look up, face cold with terror, and slam the brake. Not fast enough. I brace myself.
My seat shudders. The car jolts sideways. My head throbs in pain. The car leans, then overturns. My head crashes into the roof of the car.
I see a cloak and a scythe.
537 WORDS
Death comes in a black cloak, grinning its face off. “I’ve been waiting for you,” it whispers.
I jump back, my legs shaking. I blink, twice, three times, feel the smooth timber wall behind me. It’s real. I can’t run, I can’t hide. I just have to stay, frozen, hoping beyond desperation that I melt into the wall as the figure glides closer.
“Do you know why I’m here?” it whispers. Its voice is surprisingly smooth.
“No.”
Its smile grows. “You’ll soon find out.”
My heart thumps, loud and quick like a marching band, my hands shaking, everything shaking. Death creeps closer. I back towards the door, step by step, until I feel the cold glass behind my fingers. I push the door back, slide out, slam it behind me.
“You’re going to die today,” it says. “You can’t escape. But I won’t-”
Jean walks out of her office. “Hi, Mary! How are you today?”
Does she not see me shaking all over? Does she not hear my teeth chattering? Does she not feel the air compressing from the figure behind me?
I smile. “I’m okay, what about you?”
“I’m great!” She glances at her watch. “Oh, got to go. See you around!”
She walks away. “See you round,” I mutter.
I back away from the door, pressing against the wall. The figure reaches out a grey hand and pushes it open. Its grin is gone. “Look, it’s fine. You’ll only die at four. And it’s still ten-thirty! Plenty of time to live.”
Less than a workday. Not exactly plenty of time.
So I’ll be fine, then. So I can just work, talk, eat, live with a cloud of doom hanging over my head. Tentatively, I reach for the door handle and push it slowly forward, going straight through the figure. I walk into the room. I just need to try to live.
I sit back at my computer, the fabric seat soft as always, the keys big and hard to press as always, the window showing a perfectly normal skyscraper, blocking the view as always. I open Word and begin typing, a stream of words, words and sentences and paragraphs. Just like any other day. But today I’m going to die. Shouldn’t it be different?
Hours of monotony pass, words upon words, messages, and notifications. I get up to stretch my legs, out of my office, out of the building. I glance at my watch. 3:28. Walking to my car, I unlock it, grab the steering wheel, and drive away. If Death wants me, it’ll have to go a long way.
Thirty minutes later, I sit at the wheel, staring at the red traffic light. Cars turn left and right beside me. The light goes green, and I hit the accelerator. Another car does the same, turning right from in front of me, turning towards me. I hit the brake. They look up, face cold with terror, and slam the brake. Not fast enough. I brace myself.
My seat shudders. The car jolts sideways. My head throbs in pain. The car leans, then overturns. My head crashes into the roof of the car.
I see a cloak and a scythe.
Last edited by 1lMaM (March 16, 2024 03:08:05)
- -WildClan-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
“Are you sure about this?” I blinked, trying to hide my apprehension. Rust did not tolerate weakness. “The prisoners are dangerous. They might kill me.”
“We’re all gonna die eventually,” Rust scoffed roughly. “Come on.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better of it. I didn’t want to provoke Rust; I had seen what he was capable of. There was a reason he was the one in charge of the prisoners: hostile traitors, captured spies, every wolf whose heart held deep malice towards Sliver Pack. They terrified me.
And I was being sent in to fight them.
It was part of my training, Rust said. Summit’s orders. Sliver Pack needed fighters, and I was special. That was why they keep me separate from the rest of the Pack. That’s why I’m not allowed to leave.
I tried my best to crush the worry that in their eyes, I was just another prisoner. As I followed Rust, I strained my ears to listen to anything else other than the panicked voice in my mind telling me I was marching to my doom. But all I could hear was a distant voice singing that old, mournful song: “oh, one of us will have to go… into the dark, into the cold…”
The lyrics sent shivers through my pelt. I knew then that it was an omen, sent by Haven themself. They were trying to warn me! The vision of bloodsoaked fur flashed through my mind, clear as sunlight: I was going to die.
Whatever fear I had of Rust, a sudden surge of terror overcame it. “No! I won’t do this! I- I can’t!”
Rust turned on me, snarling. “Blood! You’ve been trained better than this. You will go in there, and you WILL emerge victorious.”
My heart pounding, I summoned all my will and held my ground. I couldn’t run- Rust would catch me. Besides, where would I go? I didn’t know anyone. Glancing wildly from side to side, I desperately tried to think up some way out of here.
But it was too late.
With a powerful leap, Rust was on top of me, biting into my scruff and pulling me along. I thrashed with all my might, but he did not let go. At the edge of the prison, he raised his hefty neck and threw me in.
The fall seemed to last an eternity. My legs somehow remembering what I’d been taught, I landed on my paws. From the shadows, dark shapes emerged, surrounding me, sealing my fate.
My back to the wall, I bared my teeth. I had no choice, but I could fight to my last breath. At least it would be a courageous death.
What came next was a whirl of claws and teeth and fury. I leaped and twirled, forgetting every thought I had before. I became impossibly strong. My pelt was ripped and torn, blood dripping from my ear into my eye. But I no longer felt pain.
My jaws sank into a young wolf’s neck, and he flailed for just a moment before falling limp. His blood tasted sweet upon my tongue. I growled, preparing for the next assailant. However, they retreated, slinking back to the corners of the prison. I heaved a ragged breath. I had… won? Yes. And it was what Haven had intended for me all along- the omen was not of my doom, but of my destiny.
“See, not so hard, was it, Blood?” Rust’s voice drawled from above me. He tossed down the ramp and I staggered up it, barely conscious.
As I sank down to the ground, I had one last thought before it all went dark: I will never die now… For I have become death itself.
“We’re all gonna die eventually,” Rust scoffed roughly. “Come on.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better of it. I didn’t want to provoke Rust; I had seen what he was capable of. There was a reason he was the one in charge of the prisoners: hostile traitors, captured spies, every wolf whose heart held deep malice towards Sliver Pack. They terrified me.
And I was being sent in to fight them.
It was part of my training, Rust said. Summit’s orders. Sliver Pack needed fighters, and I was special. That was why they keep me separate from the rest of the Pack. That’s why I’m not allowed to leave.
I tried my best to crush the worry that in their eyes, I was just another prisoner. As I followed Rust, I strained my ears to listen to anything else other than the panicked voice in my mind telling me I was marching to my doom. But all I could hear was a distant voice singing that old, mournful song: “oh, one of us will have to go… into the dark, into the cold…”
The lyrics sent shivers through my pelt. I knew then that it was an omen, sent by Haven themself. They were trying to warn me! The vision of bloodsoaked fur flashed through my mind, clear as sunlight: I was going to die.
Whatever fear I had of Rust, a sudden surge of terror overcame it. “No! I won’t do this! I- I can’t!”
Rust turned on me, snarling. “Blood! You’ve been trained better than this. You will go in there, and you WILL emerge victorious.”
My heart pounding, I summoned all my will and held my ground. I couldn’t run- Rust would catch me. Besides, where would I go? I didn’t know anyone. Glancing wildly from side to side, I desperately tried to think up some way out of here.
But it was too late.
With a powerful leap, Rust was on top of me, biting into my scruff and pulling me along. I thrashed with all my might, but he did not let go. At the edge of the prison, he raised his hefty neck and threw me in.
The fall seemed to last an eternity. My legs somehow remembering what I’d been taught, I landed on my paws. From the shadows, dark shapes emerged, surrounding me, sealing my fate.
My back to the wall, I bared my teeth. I had no choice, but I could fight to my last breath. At least it would be a courageous death.
What came next was a whirl of claws and teeth and fury. I leaped and twirled, forgetting every thought I had before. I became impossibly strong. My pelt was ripped and torn, blood dripping from my ear into my eye. But I no longer felt pain.
My jaws sank into a young wolf’s neck, and he flailed for just a moment before falling limp. His blood tasted sweet upon my tongue. I growled, preparing for the next assailant. However, they retreated, slinking back to the corners of the prison. I heaved a ragged breath. I had… won? Yes. And it was what Haven had intended for me all along- the omen was not of my doom, but of my destiny.
“See, not so hard, was it, Blood?” Rust’s voice drawled from above me. He tossed down the ramp and I staggered up it, barely conscious.
As I sank down to the ground, I had one last thought before it all went dark: I will never die now… For I have become death itself.
- wolfiebear-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
daily 3.15
haha you thought i wouldn't do another daily B] anyway this was based off a project my friends brother did in 7th grade but that's beside the point…also i didn't finish it because school is cringe so it randomly cuts off </3 basically the character dodges death accidentally all day and thinks they'll make it but die at 11:59pm. obviously i didn't get there, but you can come up with your own ending hehe
haha you thought i wouldn't do another daily B] anyway this was based off a project my friends brother did in 7th grade but that's beside the point…also i didn't finish it because school is cringe so it randomly cuts off </3 basically the character dodges death accidentally all day and thinks they'll make it but die at 11:59pm. obviously i didn't get there, but you can come up with your own ending hehe
It was late at night, maybe around midnight when I looked at my phone. There was an email notification, saying Sent at 0:00. What kind of idiot sends an email at midnight? I was curious so I looked at the email.
Re: The Ides of March
talb.donotreply@spqr.com
to jceas11@kmail.com
Today is your last day alive. Enjoy it.
And remember, beware the Ides of March.
Reply | Forward
I scrolled farther down, looking for the “please give us all your personal information and you won’t get killed!” but there wasn’t anything, just those fifteen words. I put it out of my head and tried to sleep, assuming it was spam or something. I had a Geometry test tomorrow and had to sleep so I wouldn’t be nodding off in the middle of calculating sines or something.
My alarm went off the next morning, and I slammed the snooze button so violently the screen broke and glass went everywhere. I felt a sharp pain in my chin, and I brought up my hand to feel the place. There was glass embedded in my face, mere inches from my neck. I pulled my hand back and there was blood on it. I had almost died, I realized. That glass would’ve slit my throat.
I went into the bathroom and pulled out the glass. Thankfully it wasn’t too deep. After I washed the wound I continued to get ready for school, shaken. I grabbed my backpack and a muffin on the way out of my house. As I stepped into the street I took a bite of my muffin. The sweet banana taste flooded my mouth but it turned sour as I heard the screech right before the impact.
A car was careening down the street, and I was in the middle of it. It tried to break and seemingly magically stopped right before it would’ve mowed me down. I just stood there, staring down the driver. It was a very old woman, someone I felt shouldn’t be going double the speed limit down a residential street. I ran to the curb and tried to gather my thoughts. This was the second time in literally an hour that I nearly died. This was not normal.
Suddenly I remembered the email. Was there a connection? There couldn’t be. Could there?
A few hours later I was eating my lunch when some idiot threw a Cheez-It at his friend. The other guy threw back a peanut. I was standing behind the first guy and as I opened my mouth in a gasp the peanut flew past me, missing me by a hair. I’m very allergic to peanuts, so it could’ve killed me if I swallowed it. Another brush with death. This was partly getting on my nerves and partly scaring the * out of me.
I somehow made it through the next two periods, and after a near miss with my pencil in Geometry I had finished the day without getting fatally injured. I was so on edge on the way home from school that it took me twice as long as usual. It was getting dark as I got home, and I turned on my street, nearly running into someone walking their dog. It was a massive thing, more like a wolf, and it started growling and gnashing its teeth at me. The owner looked between me and the dog and then tried to wrench it away, but in a sudden burst of power the dog slipped free of the owner and tackled me onto the grass of my lawn. It was on top of me, crushing my chest and snapping its massive jaws at my throat. Slobber got all over my face and if I wasn’t so terrified I would be absolutely disgusted.
Last edited by wolfiebear- (March 15, 2024 23:35:07)
- Gladiolus12
-
Scratcher
58 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
March 15 daily, 574 words
—
I was going to die today.
I’d always wondered what it would be like to die. Does your soul really float out of your body, watching as people weep over your dead figure? Do you rise straight up to Heaven? Does it hurt to die?
I’d always wanted to know. I’d always wished there was someone who had died, but then come back to life and written a book about what it was like. I’d always found it funny that we had a book for pretty much anything and everything in the world—except for a book about what it was like to die.
But I would find out today, because today I was going to die. I was also going to be the first person to write about it.
Admittedly, I was pretty excited. I wished time would hurry up and take me already. But I had already made up my mind that my death would be natural. It had to be natural. I wanted people to know how it felt to really die. So I had to wait.
In the meantime, I thought I could make the most of my remaining life by taking a walk outside. I had always loved taking walks. I loved listening to the birds chirp and the squirrels chatter. They were like my little friends. I didn’t have any human friends. I didn’t even have a family. So I learned to become friends with nature.
I put on my coat and shoes and grabbed a little notebook and pen, which I stuffed into the coat pocket. Who knows, perhaps I would die during the walk. I had to be prepared.
The birds were chirping when I stepped out of my door. I decided to walk to the park. There was a playground there, but it was so old and broken that no kids really played there anyway. I would be completely alone, and that was the way I liked it. It gave me time to think.
But to my surprise, there was a kid when I got there. He was all alone on a swing, and looked up when he saw me. I nodded to him and sat down on a bench, and then pulled out my little notebook to stare at it. Sometimes, on these little trips to the playground, I liked to write stories. But nothing was coming to my head today.
“Whatcha writing?” came a little voice from beside me, and I turned to see the kid looking at my notebook with interest.
“Nothing at the moment,” I replied. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers. They could be dangerous. Hasn’t your mother taught you?”
“She has,” said the boy. “But I figured what’s the worst that could happen? Are you calling yourself dangerous?”
“No.”
“Why do you have a notebook if you’re not writing anything in it?”
I debated whether or not I should tell him. Why not, I supposed. He seemed mature enough to handle it.
“I’m going to die today, and I want to record it. I want people to know what it feels like.”
“Oh,” said the boy. “Well, I would be the first to read it.”
“Would you?”
“Yeah. My mother died recently. I always wondered what it felt like for her. And if I’ll see her in heaven when I die too.”
I looked at him again.
“Well, you’ll be the first to know,” I assured him.
And we waited together.
—
I was going to die today.
I’d always wondered what it would be like to die. Does your soul really float out of your body, watching as people weep over your dead figure? Do you rise straight up to Heaven? Does it hurt to die?
I’d always wanted to know. I’d always wished there was someone who had died, but then come back to life and written a book about what it was like. I’d always found it funny that we had a book for pretty much anything and everything in the world—except for a book about what it was like to die.
But I would find out today, because today I was going to die. I was also going to be the first person to write about it.
Admittedly, I was pretty excited. I wished time would hurry up and take me already. But I had already made up my mind that my death would be natural. It had to be natural. I wanted people to know how it felt to really die. So I had to wait.
In the meantime, I thought I could make the most of my remaining life by taking a walk outside. I had always loved taking walks. I loved listening to the birds chirp and the squirrels chatter. They were like my little friends. I didn’t have any human friends. I didn’t even have a family. So I learned to become friends with nature.
I put on my coat and shoes and grabbed a little notebook and pen, which I stuffed into the coat pocket. Who knows, perhaps I would die during the walk. I had to be prepared.
The birds were chirping when I stepped out of my door. I decided to walk to the park. There was a playground there, but it was so old and broken that no kids really played there anyway. I would be completely alone, and that was the way I liked it. It gave me time to think.
But to my surprise, there was a kid when I got there. He was all alone on a swing, and looked up when he saw me. I nodded to him and sat down on a bench, and then pulled out my little notebook to stare at it. Sometimes, on these little trips to the playground, I liked to write stories. But nothing was coming to my head today.
“Whatcha writing?” came a little voice from beside me, and I turned to see the kid looking at my notebook with interest.
“Nothing at the moment,” I replied. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers. They could be dangerous. Hasn’t your mother taught you?”
“She has,” said the boy. “But I figured what’s the worst that could happen? Are you calling yourself dangerous?”
“No.”
“Why do you have a notebook if you’re not writing anything in it?”
I debated whether or not I should tell him. Why not, I supposed. He seemed mature enough to handle it.
“I’m going to die today, and I want to record it. I want people to know what it feels like.”
“Oh,” said the boy. “Well, I would be the first to read it.”
“Would you?”
“Yeah. My mother died recently. I always wondered what it felt like for her. And if I’ll see her in heaven when I die too.”
I looked at him again.
“Well, you’ll be the first to know,” I assured him.
And we waited together.
- -vanillamochabear-
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
march 15th
~ fateful ends, enduring <3
“congratulations, you're going to die!”
the whispered voice takes daphne by surprise, and the words don't quite sink in at first. when they finally do, she suspects she must've heard wrong, or perhaps it was a prank - she couldn't see the speaker, but they sounded… abnormally joyous. stopping in her tracks, she whips her head around wildly, scanning the dark woods. just off of the overgrown dirt path, a hooded figure with excellent posture stands ominously next to what she thought was a laurel tree. she hastily tries to brush off the fact that the tree was vaguely her namesake - after all, coincidences were not impossible. what should've been impossible, though, was that the closer she looked, the speaker had no face - she'd originally assumed that had been due to the shadows, but now, she noticed those glowing, white eyes.
"pardon?" her voice is much weaker than she'd intended when she finally gets it to work, as she addressed the… thing. it laughs, a sound which almost makes her vomit.
“didn't hear me, did you? - you're going to die!”
so she hadn't heard wrong. the possibility of a prank was still very present, but daphne couldn't help being curious. “when?”
“oh, the Author says tomorrow or something. go on, get a good night's sleep before your big day, darling.”
daphne blinks slowly. who was the author? and so soon? she opens her mouth to ask another question, but the figure is gone. in its place is nothingness, and she starts to wonder if the mushrooms she had were poisonous. “hello?”
no response. just the sounds of wind and crickets, and an echo that she thinks is solely in her mind:
death. tomorrow.
there's a lone crow perched on the low-hanging branch ahead of her. feeling watched, and overall very disturbed, daphne turns and walks as fast as she can towards her cottage in the village square.
she'd spent the last night reading to distract herself. because, no matter how much she attempted to convince herself that she was safe and perfectly fine, she couldn't seem to shake the eerie feeling that had followed her out of the forest and home.
despite her shaky sleep, she rose at the crack of dawn. it was a habit, at this point - she wasn't tired the least. she got ready for the day, as she always did - threw on an outfit, fixed her long, wavy hair into a single loose braid. after tying it off with a silk black ribbon, daphne reached for her bag, anticipating a morning at the library, the way she usually spent her thursdays. it was at that moment she spied another single crow, with much similarity to the one from yesterday. it watches her from her own windowsill, its ash-colored feathers a stark contrast to her row of potted plants. that unfortunately familiar wave of… something uncomfortable rises over her again. she can't quite put a finger on the feeling, but it certainly isn't welcoming.
in a wave of desperation, she shoos the bird away.
no, it's not a feeling, it's most certainly a warning. just like the figure from yesterday.
impending doom! her mind singsongs.
nope. not today, she was barely three months past seventeen.
hm, what if she just stayed home? hesitantly, she hangs her bag back onto the hook, and everything clicks back into normality, just like that.
she pulls the ribbon out of her hair, changing it for a white one instead. she needed no reminder of crows and darkness.
satisfied, daphne heads to the kitchen, instead opting to spend her morning baking a fresh loaf of bread. yes, that felt… right. who ever died while baking bread?
before long, it's late evening, and daphne is delighted to find herself still alive. there were only a couple more hours ‘til midnight, marking a new day - she could make it, she could prove that prophecies and warnings were only suggestions. above all, she would continue to live. that was fantastic on its own, wasn’t it?
today had been composed of staying home and baking, and spending the golden afternoon sunrays cuddled up re-reading overdue books. it was barely a price at all for avoiding her supposed fall. she was comforted by the lingering scent of warm sourdough bread, combined with a floral candle burning brightly on the countertop. it was nice, in honesty - she'd forgotten how deeply she hated the company of others. alone time was good time.
all of a sudden, there's a knock at the door, and she considers ignoring it altogether. a small part of her pondered the possibility of this being her cause of death, but most of her thoughts chided her for being silly.
just answer the door, that unfaltering echo urged.
so she sets her mug down and pulls herself up and off of the armchair, reaching for the doorknob. when the old oak door creaks outward, it's not someone she's ever seen before, but she looks friendly.
“hi,” daphne says hesitantly.
“hey,” the girl greeted brightly. she seems to read her weary expression, and laughs in what was meant to be a comforting manner. “i'm just the messenger, by the way - head of town's sent me door to door to inform townsfolk about today's tragedy. i'm assuming you've heard about it, though?”
“i don't think i have,” she responds, “what is it?”
the messenger looks genuinely surprised at that. “oh, really? well, out of the twenty houses on this block, you're the first - no offense, but it's all over the news and everything.”
she smiles, not at all offended. “i don’t follow it much,”
the girl nods. “well, there was a stabbing on the steps of the library today,” she says solemnly, “you live alone, though?”
it takes a lot to hide daphne's excitement, which she assumed was an inappropriate reaction for something so devastating. but still, she's a bit proud - her instincts had been right, after all.
“yes,” is all she manages to say.
the girl nods again. “do you know anyone who lives around here? anyone you're concerned about? that's what i'm supposed to do, inform people of who died - there were quite a number of fatalities.”
fatalities! daphne could've easily been one of the ones who had died. most importantly, this proved that she could trust her heart. she silently wondered if the ones who died had received the same warning from the same hooded figure, and chose not to heed it.
“no,” she responds, trying hard to focus on the task at hand. her flood of thoughts could wait for later.
“nice. well, that's all,” the messenger says.
daphne nods her head too. “condolences to the families of those lost,” she whispers.
“indeed.”
the old door is shut softly after that, and daphne again relays all the information she'd just received. yes, a stabbing, tragic and all - but she'd managed to avoid it! she had been planning to go to that library this very morning! oh, joy, today, the ides of march of all days, wouldn't be her end after -
then a bullet comes crashing through her window, straight from nowhere. maybe it’s a stray, maybe it’d been aimed at the wrong household - wherever it’s from, it interrupts the beginnings of her celebration. and it's the same window her plants are on, the same window the crow had been perched on just this dawn.
daphne doesn't see the glimmer of bronze - it's faster than any birds, nearly as swift as light itself. the glass shatters onto the floor in a loud mess, and the bullet creates a home for itself in daphne's heart. she falls to the floor.
what a shame, only a couple of hours until a new day, a short distance until she’d be freed from the lurking shadow of doom.
yet fate is fickle thing, and only fool would think themselves free from its grasp. it's not a joke, a prank - in many cases, it's the end - sometimes a happily ever after, and other times…
well, the Author oversees it all. and they laugh, almost manically - things would always and forever go their way, or simply no way at all.
a/n, not part of word count:
heYyy as the date of this post suggests, this was my daily from the fifteenth :) and as i’m writing a note, which i rarely ever do, i happen to be entering this into the writing comp ;)
there was absolutely no motive for this, first of all - it was a daily, so i just took the prompt and drove away with it!! i think that’s part of why i’m actually satisfied with my writing, for once :0
some story related notes: if you’re a little confused on what the true “message” of this is, that’s great! i’m not an english teacher, so that’s up to your interpretation >:D i will say that the “Author” is exactly what it sounds like (in this world, some divine being in charge of the plot)
as for the title, i just wanted something using end twice hehe
okayy that’s all, have a nice day <33
~ fateful ends, enduring <3
“congratulations, you're going to die!”
the whispered voice takes daphne by surprise, and the words don't quite sink in at first. when they finally do, she suspects she must've heard wrong, or perhaps it was a prank - she couldn't see the speaker, but they sounded… abnormally joyous. stopping in her tracks, she whips her head around wildly, scanning the dark woods. just off of the overgrown dirt path, a hooded figure with excellent posture stands ominously next to what she thought was a laurel tree. she hastily tries to brush off the fact that the tree was vaguely her namesake - after all, coincidences were not impossible. what should've been impossible, though, was that the closer she looked, the speaker had no face - she'd originally assumed that had been due to the shadows, but now, she noticed those glowing, white eyes.
"pardon?" her voice is much weaker than she'd intended when she finally gets it to work, as she addressed the… thing. it laughs, a sound which almost makes her vomit.
“didn't hear me, did you? - you're going to die!”
so she hadn't heard wrong. the possibility of a prank was still very present, but daphne couldn't help being curious. “when?”
“oh, the Author says tomorrow or something. go on, get a good night's sleep before your big day, darling.”
daphne blinks slowly. who was the author? and so soon? she opens her mouth to ask another question, but the figure is gone. in its place is nothingness, and she starts to wonder if the mushrooms she had were poisonous. “hello?”
no response. just the sounds of wind and crickets, and an echo that she thinks is solely in her mind:
death. tomorrow.
there's a lone crow perched on the low-hanging branch ahead of her. feeling watched, and overall very disturbed, daphne turns and walks as fast as she can towards her cottage in the village square.
she'd spent the last night reading to distract herself. because, no matter how much she attempted to convince herself that she was safe and perfectly fine, she couldn't seem to shake the eerie feeling that had followed her out of the forest and home.
despite her shaky sleep, she rose at the crack of dawn. it was a habit, at this point - she wasn't tired the least. she got ready for the day, as she always did - threw on an outfit, fixed her long, wavy hair into a single loose braid. after tying it off with a silk black ribbon, daphne reached for her bag, anticipating a morning at the library, the way she usually spent her thursdays. it was at that moment she spied another single crow, with much similarity to the one from yesterday. it watches her from her own windowsill, its ash-colored feathers a stark contrast to her row of potted plants. that unfortunately familiar wave of… something uncomfortable rises over her again. she can't quite put a finger on the feeling, but it certainly isn't welcoming.
in a wave of desperation, she shoos the bird away.
no, it's not a feeling, it's most certainly a warning. just like the figure from yesterday.
impending doom! her mind singsongs.
nope. not today, she was barely three months past seventeen.
hm, what if she just stayed home? hesitantly, she hangs her bag back onto the hook, and everything clicks back into normality, just like that.
she pulls the ribbon out of her hair, changing it for a white one instead. she needed no reminder of crows and darkness.
satisfied, daphne heads to the kitchen, instead opting to spend her morning baking a fresh loaf of bread. yes, that felt… right. who ever died while baking bread?
before long, it's late evening, and daphne is delighted to find herself still alive. there were only a couple more hours ‘til midnight, marking a new day - she could make it, she could prove that prophecies and warnings were only suggestions. above all, she would continue to live. that was fantastic on its own, wasn’t it?
today had been composed of staying home and baking, and spending the golden afternoon sunrays cuddled up re-reading overdue books. it was barely a price at all for avoiding her supposed fall. she was comforted by the lingering scent of warm sourdough bread, combined with a floral candle burning brightly on the countertop. it was nice, in honesty - she'd forgotten how deeply she hated the company of others. alone time was good time.
all of a sudden, there's a knock at the door, and she considers ignoring it altogether. a small part of her pondered the possibility of this being her cause of death, but most of her thoughts chided her for being silly.
just answer the door, that unfaltering echo urged.
so she sets her mug down and pulls herself up and off of the armchair, reaching for the doorknob. when the old oak door creaks outward, it's not someone she's ever seen before, but she looks friendly.
“hi,” daphne says hesitantly.
“hey,” the girl greeted brightly. she seems to read her weary expression, and laughs in what was meant to be a comforting manner. “i'm just the messenger, by the way - head of town's sent me door to door to inform townsfolk about today's tragedy. i'm assuming you've heard about it, though?”
“i don't think i have,” she responds, “what is it?”
the messenger looks genuinely surprised at that. “oh, really? well, out of the twenty houses on this block, you're the first - no offense, but it's all over the news and everything.”
she smiles, not at all offended. “i don’t follow it much,”
the girl nods. “well, there was a stabbing on the steps of the library today,” she says solemnly, “you live alone, though?”
it takes a lot to hide daphne's excitement, which she assumed was an inappropriate reaction for something so devastating. but still, she's a bit proud - her instincts had been right, after all.
“yes,” is all she manages to say.
the girl nods again. “do you know anyone who lives around here? anyone you're concerned about? that's what i'm supposed to do, inform people of who died - there were quite a number of fatalities.”
fatalities! daphne could've easily been one of the ones who had died. most importantly, this proved that she could trust her heart. she silently wondered if the ones who died had received the same warning from the same hooded figure, and chose not to heed it.
“no,” she responds, trying hard to focus on the task at hand. her flood of thoughts could wait for later.
“nice. well, that's all,” the messenger says.
daphne nods her head too. “condolences to the families of those lost,” she whispers.
“indeed.”
the old door is shut softly after that, and daphne again relays all the information she'd just received. yes, a stabbing, tragic and all - but she'd managed to avoid it! she had been planning to go to that library this very morning! oh, joy, today, the ides of march of all days, wouldn't be her end after -
then a bullet comes crashing through her window, straight from nowhere. maybe it’s a stray, maybe it’d been aimed at the wrong household - wherever it’s from, it interrupts the beginnings of her celebration. and it's the same window her plants are on, the same window the crow had been perched on just this dawn.
daphne doesn't see the glimmer of bronze - it's faster than any birds, nearly as swift as light itself. the glass shatters onto the floor in a loud mess, and the bullet creates a home for itself in daphne's heart. she falls to the floor.
what a shame, only a couple of hours until a new day, a short distance until she’d be freed from the lurking shadow of doom.
yet fate is fickle thing, and only fool would think themselves free from its grasp. it's not a joke, a prank - in many cases, it's the end - sometimes a happily ever after, and other times…
well, the Author oversees it all. and they laugh, almost manically - things would always and forever go their way, or simply no way at all.
a/n, not part of word count:
heYyy as the date of this post suggests, this was my daily from the fifteenth :) and as i’m writing a note, which i rarely ever do, i happen to be entering this into the writing comp ;)
there was absolutely no motive for this, first of all - it was a daily, so i just took the prompt and drove away with it!! i think that’s part of why i’m actually satisfied with my writing, for once :0
some story related notes: if you’re a little confused on what the true “message” of this is, that’s great! i’m not an english teacher, so that’s up to your interpretation >:D i will say that the “Author” is exactly what it sounds like (in this world, some divine being in charge of the plot)
as for the title, i just wanted something using end twice hehe
okayy that’s all, have a nice day <33
Last edited by -vanillamochabear- (March 24, 2024 13:02:09)
- AmazaEevee
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Daily #15
3/15/2024
419 words
CW: Just, y’know, thoughts about impending death :] Plus sadness and betrayal, but nothing explicit <3
Footsteps echo through the dark halls and Hanna scurries to the edge of her cell. She’s been stuck in here for three days with no explanation or contact with others. She’s demanding to know why she’s been locked in the prison cell.
A dark hood comes out of the shadows and the light of a candle flickers on the bottom of the figure’s face. The eyes are covered by the shadow cast from the hood. Hanna sucks in a breath when he begins to talk.
“You have betrayed your kingdom and you will pay for it with your life,” he commands, a deep booming voice, but Hanna’s far too familiar with it to not catch the slight crack at the end of the sentence. But he’s-
The hooded man turns away immediately, striding away from her.
“Father!” she cries, her voice ripping out of her chest. “Father, what did I do? What did I do to deserve this extreme punishment?”
Her sobs fill her cell as the footsteps fade. Tears stream down her cheeks and her knuckles turn white from gripping the cool metal bars. Her cries grow softer until faint sniffles are left.
She’s exhausted. Exhausted from being cooped up, from heartache, from not knowing what’s going to happen to her.
But Father. He would never hurt her. He’s spent his whole life making sure that she’ll be safe. Her whole life, she’s been cooped up because of safety issues. And now she’s cooped up because she’s a potential safety issue?
Does her father not see the illogical nature in any of this? His wrongs? Does her father really think that getting rid of her will solve the political issues of their kingdom?
She brushes a hand over her damp cheeks. Ughhhhhh. He just- Father doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that this “time waster” of a movement she’s helping to create is more beneficial to everything the Court has suggested so far.
She blinks back tears, gulping before panic washes over her. She can’t let her emotions overtake her right now. Not at a time like this.
Was her father telling the truth? Was he really going to let her go in this way?
Or- or was he going to help her out? Swoop in to save his daughter, like he always has.
She doesn’t know. They’ve been pitted against each other for months. The first time they’ve truly disagreed. She doesn’t know what he thinks of her now.
A single tear escapes and snakes down her cheek.
3/15/2024
419 words
CW: Just, y’know, thoughts about impending death :] Plus sadness and betrayal, but nothing explicit <3
Footsteps echo through the dark halls and Hanna scurries to the edge of her cell. She’s been stuck in here for three days with no explanation or contact with others. She’s demanding to know why she’s been locked in the prison cell.
A dark hood comes out of the shadows and the light of a candle flickers on the bottom of the figure’s face. The eyes are covered by the shadow cast from the hood. Hanna sucks in a breath when he begins to talk.
“You have betrayed your kingdom and you will pay for it with your life,” he commands, a deep booming voice, but Hanna’s far too familiar with it to not catch the slight crack at the end of the sentence. But he’s-
The hooded man turns away immediately, striding away from her.
“Father!” she cries, her voice ripping out of her chest. “Father, what did I do? What did I do to deserve this extreme punishment?”
Her sobs fill her cell as the footsteps fade. Tears stream down her cheeks and her knuckles turn white from gripping the cool metal bars. Her cries grow softer until faint sniffles are left.
She’s exhausted. Exhausted from being cooped up, from heartache, from not knowing what’s going to happen to her.
But Father. He would never hurt her. He’s spent his whole life making sure that she’ll be safe. Her whole life, she’s been cooped up because of safety issues. And now she’s cooped up because she’s a potential safety issue?
Does her father not see the illogical nature in any of this? His wrongs? Does her father really think that getting rid of her will solve the political issues of their kingdom?
She brushes a hand over her damp cheeks. Ughhhhhh. He just- Father doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that this “time waster” of a movement she’s helping to create is more beneficial to everything the Court has suggested so far.
She blinks back tears, gulping before panic washes over her. She can’t let her emotions overtake her right now. Not at a time like this.
Was her father telling the truth? Was he really going to let her go in this way?
Or- or was he going to help her out? Swoop in to save his daughter, like he always has.
She doesn’t know. They’ve been pitted against each other for months. The first time they’ve truly disagreed. She doesn’t know what he thinks of her now.
A single tear escapes and snakes down her cheek.
Last edited by AmazaEevee (March 15, 2024 23:54:50)
- -WildClan-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
asdfghgfdsa; your writing is always so good <3 I think this piece really captures the monotony and discomfort of corporate jobs effectively through Kieran's perspective. It’s very relatable, and the way you described Kieran’s emotions was very well done. I liked how you combined the description of Kieran's physical discomfort and distractions (descriptions of his suit and the room) with his internal thoughts and emotions, allowing the reader to better empathize with his sense of frustration. His internal monologue about his past experiences with asking questions and getting roughly brushed aside was a nice touch. It adds depth to his character, but I think also it could be integrated more smoothly into the narrative. Rather than presented as a separate paragraph, these reflections could be woven into Kieran's current thoughts about his role in the meeting, highlighting his apprehension about speaking up. The interaction between Kieran and Mr. Aston also felt somewhat abrupt and disconnected from the rest of the writing up until that point. Trying to fit the “compliment” part of the prompt in at this point seemed just a bit forced, and probably should have been eased into more gradually. It could be foreshadowed or hinted at earlier in the piece to create a more cohesive narrative arc. Overall, though, the piece was really awesome. I loved how it portrayed the sense of low-key desperation that comes from a mundane job, and how quickly that feeling can be overturned by a simple act of kindness from someone else.
Last edited by -WildClan- (March 16, 2024 00:04:19)
- hamilchaos
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
weekly #2 for poetry ;>
total word count: 1343/1200
part 1 - 341/300 words
chosen motifs:
Petra was a normal 8-year-old. Her family was just one of many. No royals, no wizards, no magic creatures. Just like yours and mine. But one day - or night, rather - when she was already tucked into her bed and everyone in the house was asleep, something sparked inside of her. She randomly woke up, but no one had made any noise. Being the responsible little girl that she was, she turned back to her pillow trying to fall asleep once more. Then she had the random urge to go to the bathroom. Hey, it’s happened to all of us.
When she stood up, she almost tripped. Not with a random shoe, not with the carpet, but with something almost invisible. A string so thin, she almost couldn’t see it. And that typical child curiosity, she tried to touch it. She didn’t feel anything. So naturally, she started pulling it. The string pulled back. Petra realized she wasn’t strong enough. Frustrated, she gave in to the string. It pulled her - it’s worth noting that she followed it willingly, though - all the way to her mom’s garden. The little kid loved to spend her time there, sitting cross-legged in the grass just playing with her car toys. But today, the string pointed her in another direction. The flower section. Gasping, Petra remembered she wasn’t allowed here, at least without her mom. She stopped herself to question all of this. Why was she even following this random thing? Why didn’t she just go back to sleep? The curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it?
She remembered something she had read a few days back. Yes, curiosity did kill the cat. Then satisfaction brought it back. Decided, Petra took a few more steps, getting even closer to the flowers. Under the buttercup flower pot, she found a little envelope. She was confused. All of that, just for five flowers. Her mother, a florist, would have not reacted the same way, though.
~
In the envelope were a daisy, japanese kerria, rhododendron, tansy, and a trefoil.
part 2 - 353/300 words
note: i was given an alternate activity for this part of the weekly :D here's proof of it just in case! <3
a) blackout poem - 57/50 words
the great gatsby - chapter one (excerpt)
i. clean transcript
Criticizing.
We've always been a great deal more than that.
I'm inclined to reserve all judgements.
Attach to this quality when it appears, because I realized
Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.
But after a certain point,
I don't care what it's founded on.
I wanted the world to be in uniform moral attention forever.
ii. blacked out
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth. And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever;
b) story based on poem - 296/250 words
Ivy checked the mailbox, always waiting for a new letter. She was pretty nervous, since she had opened up a lot in her last letter. Ivy was afraid that her older sister, Anne-Marie, would stop responding, or just call her a little kid for telling her her true feelings. Looked for a letter every single day. And finally, it arrived.
“Being a critic, judging every single person's actions is just common human nature.” Ivy read at the start of her newly received letter. “That's what I used to think. That everyone was looking at me, thinking and having their own opinions about me. I had to repeatedly tell myself that (and as I write this, it sounds extremely egocentric) everyone has better things to do than looking at me, and that nobody even cares.” That last part hit Ivy kind of hard. She continued reading. “I felt like this when I was younger. And it still happens to me, right now. As you grow up, you'll realize no one gives a mango.” She chuckled. How did her sister manage to add a sprinkle of humor to each of her letters? “Especially in high school, where everyone is focused on graduating, getting good grades. Or you know, on whatever they want. But just know this: nobody, absolutely nobody, is judging, looking, or criticizing you. So chill down, and enjoy :)” The little smiley face evoked yet another chuckle from Ivy's face. The letter continued. “Maybe watching too many teen shows made me feel like a main character, that everyone is always focusing on. And I like to think everyone felt like a MC at some point. But this is just a phase. It will end.
Love you, Anne-Marie.
P.S.: Coming home next month! Are you missing me yet?”
part 3 - aesthetic set
based on part one, it's the last set on @oceanlight– :>
part 4 - 649/600 words
also based on part one lol, the flower motifs are in bold
The month was July. The year was 2027.
Even though it literally was its 10th anniversary, Scratch Writing Camp was still going strong. And slowly, but surely, the camp grew more and more.
It had always been virtual. Sure, there had been meetups. But never an official, in-person camp (except in fanfictions. They don’t count though). Mostly, because of how global the community is. People not only from the US. Australia, New Zealand, the UK, Spain, Argentina, Canada, Hong Kong and more. Even inside the US, all of the different states. A thousand people, dozens of different cultures and countries - from literally every hemisphere - were going to come together to celebrate this moment.
The hosts were, to say the least, nervous. Understandable, it's not every day that you host an event for that amount of people. It took a whole lot of organizing, fundraisers, and most importantly, an exhaustive leader selection program. It was bigger than any SWC session ever. Whether new or old, first-timer or a veteran, you were welcome. Naturally, the number of cabins was increased. With 25 cabins of 40 campers each, leaders, hosts, and other helpers were in for a chaotic one. Never, of course, losing the childish and innocent nature of the camp.
It was Finn’s first session. She bubbled with emotion. She had heard so much about this camp. Her family thought she was kind of crazy - leave her home at only 15, take a 16-hour flight to the other side of the world, spend the month with a thousand other strangers. Then come back to her normal life. She was still wondering how she’d made her family agree. Guess the “it will give me writing credits and experience!” had worked. Still was a little bit nervous though.
Contrary to the common practice of SWC participants, she actually was very responsible with her sleep schedule. And gradually, bit by bit, the hosts were finally accomplishing their goal. It had been 10 years since SWC’s foundation, but the thoughtlessness about healthy lifestyles was still trying to be fixed. So in order to do this, dinner was served every day at 8:30pm. Except for bonfires that were held every two weeks, until 10pm, there wasn’t any activity after that. Dinner ended at 9:15, and campers were given an hour of writing/free time before being sent to sleep. Many lightheartedly complained about this restriction, but the hosts knew it was for their good and sanity. Finn really admired them, wondering how seven young adults were able to organize it all, being non-profit. Still didn’t know how they managed to pay for everyone’s flight ticket. She really doubted every single participant could afford it. Must be the magic of SWC, eh?
Second Saturday of the session. Something Finn was really looking up to. She woke up early (still getting the needed 8 hours of sleep, of course!), determined to start helping as soon as she could. She noticed some of her cabinmates were up already. Looking at the wall clock, she realized it was 7am. Doing quick mental math, she knew she’d slept almost 9 hours. “Eevee would be proud of me” she thought. She quickly walked to the kitchen. She only had 15 minutes before cabin wars started. She ate in silence, washed her plates, and rushed back to her cabin. When she got there, one war had already started. Finn immediately started writing towards it, and in no time she had written 1000 words. One fourth of the war, done. Not only was she a fast writer, but wasn’t easily distracted. She described that as her greatest strength. And once she finished, she was ready to drop her cabin’s first attack. And what better way to start a war than to retaliate? She was after revenge.
“Hey hey hey… you better wake up and get going, because I’m declaring war against you.”
yay can finally sleep peacefully now
total word count: 1343/1200
part 1 - 341/300 words
chosen motifs:
- buttercup: childishness
- daisy: innocence
- japanese kerria: thoughtlessness
- rhododendron: danger
- tansy: i declare against you
- trefoil: revenge
Petra was a normal 8-year-old. Her family was just one of many. No royals, no wizards, no magic creatures. Just like yours and mine. But one day - or night, rather - when she was already tucked into her bed and everyone in the house was asleep, something sparked inside of her. She randomly woke up, but no one had made any noise. Being the responsible little girl that she was, she turned back to her pillow trying to fall asleep once more. Then she had the random urge to go to the bathroom. Hey, it’s happened to all of us.
When she stood up, she almost tripped. Not with a random shoe, not with the carpet, but with something almost invisible. A string so thin, she almost couldn’t see it. And that typical child curiosity, she tried to touch it. She didn’t feel anything. So naturally, she started pulling it. The string pulled back. Petra realized she wasn’t strong enough. Frustrated, she gave in to the string. It pulled her - it’s worth noting that she followed it willingly, though - all the way to her mom’s garden. The little kid loved to spend her time there, sitting cross-legged in the grass just playing with her car toys. But today, the string pointed her in another direction. The flower section. Gasping, Petra remembered she wasn’t allowed here, at least without her mom. She stopped herself to question all of this. Why was she even following this random thing? Why didn’t she just go back to sleep? The curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it?
She remembered something she had read a few days back. Yes, curiosity did kill the cat. Then satisfaction brought it back. Decided, Petra took a few more steps, getting even closer to the flowers. Under the buttercup flower pot, she found a little envelope. She was confused. All of that, just for five flowers. Her mother, a florist, would have not reacted the same way, though.
~
In the envelope were a daisy, japanese kerria, rhododendron, tansy, and a trefoil.
part 2 - 353/300 words
note: i was given an alternate activity for this part of the weekly :D here's proof of it just in case! <3
a) blackout poem - 57/50 words
the great gatsby - chapter one (excerpt)
i. clean transcript
Criticizing.
We've always been a great deal more than that.
I'm inclined to reserve all judgements.
Attach to this quality when it appears, because I realized
Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.
But after a certain point,
I don't care what it's founded on.
I wanted the world to be in uniform moral attention forever.
ii. blacked out
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth. And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever;
b) story based on poem - 296/250 words
Ivy checked the mailbox, always waiting for a new letter. She was pretty nervous, since she had opened up a lot in her last letter. Ivy was afraid that her older sister, Anne-Marie, would stop responding, or just call her a little kid for telling her her true feelings. Looked for a letter every single day. And finally, it arrived.
“Being a critic, judging every single person's actions is just common human nature.” Ivy read at the start of her newly received letter. “That's what I used to think. That everyone was looking at me, thinking and having their own opinions about me. I had to repeatedly tell myself that (and as I write this, it sounds extremely egocentric) everyone has better things to do than looking at me, and that nobody even cares.” That last part hit Ivy kind of hard. She continued reading. “I felt like this when I was younger. And it still happens to me, right now. As you grow up, you'll realize no one gives a mango.” She chuckled. How did her sister manage to add a sprinkle of humor to each of her letters? “Especially in high school, where everyone is focused on graduating, getting good grades. Or you know, on whatever they want. But just know this: nobody, absolutely nobody, is judging, looking, or criticizing you. So chill down, and enjoy :)” The little smiley face evoked yet another chuckle from Ivy's face. The letter continued. “Maybe watching too many teen shows made me feel like a main character, that everyone is always focusing on. And I like to think everyone felt like a MC at some point. But this is just a phase. It will end.
Love you, Anne-Marie.
P.S.: Coming home next month! Are you missing me yet?”
part 3 - aesthetic set
based on part one, it's the last set on @oceanlight– :>
part 4 - 649/600 words
also based on part one lol, the flower motifs are in bold
The month was July. The year was 2027.
Even though it literally was its 10th anniversary, Scratch Writing Camp was still going strong. And slowly, but surely, the camp grew more and more.
It had always been virtual. Sure, there had been meetups. But never an official, in-person camp (except in fanfictions. They don’t count though). Mostly, because of how global the community is. People not only from the US. Australia, New Zealand, the UK, Spain, Argentina, Canada, Hong Kong and more. Even inside the US, all of the different states. A thousand people, dozens of different cultures and countries - from literally every hemisphere - were going to come together to celebrate this moment.
The hosts were, to say the least, nervous. Understandable, it's not every day that you host an event for that amount of people. It took a whole lot of organizing, fundraisers, and most importantly, an exhaustive leader selection program. It was bigger than any SWC session ever. Whether new or old, first-timer or a veteran, you were welcome. Naturally, the number of cabins was increased. With 25 cabins of 40 campers each, leaders, hosts, and other helpers were in for a chaotic one. Never, of course, losing the childish and innocent nature of the camp.
It was Finn’s first session. She bubbled with emotion. She had heard so much about this camp. Her family thought she was kind of crazy - leave her home at only 15, take a 16-hour flight to the other side of the world, spend the month with a thousand other strangers. Then come back to her normal life. She was still wondering how she’d made her family agree. Guess the “it will give me writing credits and experience!” had worked. Still was a little bit nervous though.
Contrary to the common practice of SWC participants, she actually was very responsible with her sleep schedule. And gradually, bit by bit, the hosts were finally accomplishing their goal. It had been 10 years since SWC’s foundation, but the thoughtlessness about healthy lifestyles was still trying to be fixed. So in order to do this, dinner was served every day at 8:30pm. Except for bonfires that were held every two weeks, until 10pm, there wasn’t any activity after that. Dinner ended at 9:15, and campers were given an hour of writing/free time before being sent to sleep. Many lightheartedly complained about this restriction, but the hosts knew it was for their good and sanity. Finn really admired them, wondering how seven young adults were able to organize it all, being non-profit. Still didn’t know how they managed to pay for everyone’s flight ticket. She really doubted every single participant could afford it. Must be the magic of SWC, eh?
Second Saturday of the session. Something Finn was really looking up to. She woke up early (still getting the needed 8 hours of sleep, of course!), determined to start helping as soon as she could. She noticed some of her cabinmates were up already. Looking at the wall clock, she realized it was 7am. Doing quick mental math, she knew she’d slept almost 9 hours. “Eevee would be proud of me” she thought. She quickly walked to the kitchen. She only had 15 minutes before cabin wars started. She ate in silence, washed her plates, and rushed back to her cabin. When she got there, one war had already started. Finn immediately started writing towards it, and in no time she had written 1000 words. One fourth of the war, done. Not only was she a fast writer, but wasn’t easily distracted. She described that as her greatest strength. And once she finished, she was ready to drop her cabin’s first attack. And what better way to start a war than to retaliate? She was after revenge.
“Hey hey hey… you better wake up and get going, because I’m declaring war against you.”
yay can finally sleep peacefully now
Last edited by hamilchaos (March 16, 2024 02:55:13)
- 1lMaM
-
Scratcher
87 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
another daily
I wake up, turn off my alarm, check the daily. “Cabin Wars,” it reads.
I grin and open my SWC Word document, yawning. Those hours spent on the weekly might come back to me today. Oh, well. SWC is greater than life, after all. Everybody knows that. Quickly, I scroll down a little on the main cabin’s description, to Poetry. Still first. Amazing. In the comments, there’s a war, as expected. ‘Cabin Wars… 4500 words… 7 hours.’ We can do this. I start typing, my fingers gracefully gliding over the keys. All that matters is cabin wars, all I need are words, precious drops of safety, precious points saved from deletion. So I find the weekly’s description, choose a section, and write. A soldier leads his army to the top of a mountain, then the other side creeps up from below, slowly slinking up the slope. But the soldier’s army easily picks them off. Until some soldiers from the other side surprise them from behind. The soldier’s army dissolves into chaos-
“Evie!” Mum calls from the kitchen. “We’re going to the market today. You need to get ready. And you’ve still got to empty the dishwasher.”
No. What will my cabin do without one of its three active members?
I switch tabs, quickly comment ‘+842 words from working on the weekly’ and close the computer.
I’ve been practicing for over an hour, since four, my fingers still light on the keys, my assessment piece sounding clean and bouncy as it should. It’s almost perfect- no. Nothing is perfect. But all I can think about are words, wars, winning, losing. I’ve already practiced, already done my chores. What more is there to do?
So I check what wars have been sent. It doesn’t take long. ‘Two people… 500 words each… 8 hours.’ Someone’s done their part. It doesn’t take me long to write an epic victory into my weekly, the soldier filled with adrenaline to the last word. ‘+539 words from the weekly’ I comment.
But there are more wars, more opportunities to slip and lose points. I type, story after story, essay after essay, long past sunset. I submit the weekly… write more… finish war after war until eleven… until even time blurs into nothing.
‘GO TO SLEEP’, someone comments after I finish a war.
‘fine… 5 mins’, I reply.
And five minutes more… and five minutes more…
I wake up, turn off my alarm, check the daily. “Cabin Wars,” it reads.
I grin and open my SWC Word document, yawning. Those hours spent on the weekly might come back to me today. Oh, well. SWC is greater than life, after all. Everybody knows that. Quickly, I scroll down a little on the main cabin’s description, to Poetry. Still first. Amazing. In the comments, there’s a war, as expected. ‘Cabin Wars… 4500 words… 7 hours.’ We can do this. I start typing, my fingers gracefully gliding over the keys. All that matters is cabin wars, all I need are words, precious drops of safety, precious points saved from deletion. So I find the weekly’s description, choose a section, and write. A soldier leads his army to the top of a mountain, then the other side creeps up from below, slowly slinking up the slope. But the soldier’s army easily picks them off. Until some soldiers from the other side surprise them from behind. The soldier’s army dissolves into chaos-
“Evie!” Mum calls from the kitchen. “We’re going to the market today. You need to get ready. And you’ve still got to empty the dishwasher.”
No. What will my cabin do without one of its three active members?
I switch tabs, quickly comment ‘+842 words from working on the weekly’ and close the computer.
I’ve been practicing for over an hour, since four, my fingers still light on the keys, my assessment piece sounding clean and bouncy as it should. It’s almost perfect- no. Nothing is perfect. But all I can think about are words, wars, winning, losing. I’ve already practiced, already done my chores. What more is there to do?
So I check what wars have been sent. It doesn’t take long. ‘Two people… 500 words each… 8 hours.’ Someone’s done their part. It doesn’t take me long to write an epic victory into my weekly, the soldier filled with adrenaline to the last word. ‘+539 words from the weekly’ I comment.
But there are more wars, more opportunities to slip and lose points. I type, story after story, essay after essay, long past sunset. I submit the weekly… write more… finish war after war until eleven… until even time blurs into nothing.
‘GO TO SLEEP’, someone comments after I finish a war.
‘fine… 5 mins’, I reply.
And five minutes more… and five minutes more…
Last edited by 1lMaM (March 16, 2024 03:45:15)
- -NightGlow-
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Word War
word count - 349 words
The fire emerged in the darkness, sucking up everything in it's way without showing any sign of regret. As I made my way through the once whole for4est, I noticed animals sprinting out, all with a sign of fear on their faces. I felt hopeless knowing that I had caused this damage. I know that no one meant any harm when it happened, but I couldn't help but worry what may have happened if she went with her plan. I was the hero, right? This fire was much smaller-scaled than it should've been, and that was all because I was alert and ready to go amidst the danger that was present.
As the embers flew up into the air, the surrounding areas wer4e illuminated with shades of orange, red, and white. Eating at everything in it's way, the damage showed not a single sign of stopping. I had to feel good about this- I mean, not about the fire, but about saving these lives. I should've been the hero in this story, but instead, I was the villain. Despite this all, even though it wasn't my fault, I was somehow the person to blame.
I wish I could just go back in time and change the events that had happened.. but I know that that would never be a possibility - what is done is done, and I should've thought about my actions before following through with this ridiculous plan. I honestly can't believe that she convinced me to do this, not even convinced, I think manipulated would be a better word to use in this case. Nevertheless, its all my fault - I have a mind of my own for a reason. And that's to make my own decisions with careful thought and consideration, without just going through with whatever a random stranger tells me.
I always thoughts that I could save lives, but instead, today, I'm hurting all those I love around me. These animals in this desolate forest provided me with a home when I was once abandoned, and now, well now I had hurt them. Leaving in
word count - 349 words
The fire emerged in the darkness, sucking up everything in it's way without showing any sign of regret. As I made my way through the once whole for4est, I noticed animals sprinting out, all with a sign of fear on their faces. I felt hopeless knowing that I had caused this damage. I know that no one meant any harm when it happened, but I couldn't help but worry what may have happened if she went with her plan. I was the hero, right? This fire was much smaller-scaled than it should've been, and that was all because I was alert and ready to go amidst the danger that was present.
As the embers flew up into the air, the surrounding areas wer4e illuminated with shades of orange, red, and white. Eating at everything in it's way, the damage showed not a single sign of stopping. I had to feel good about this- I mean, not about the fire, but about saving these lives. I should've been the hero in this story, but instead, I was the villain. Despite this all, even though it wasn't my fault, I was somehow the person to blame.
I wish I could just go back in time and change the events that had happened.. but I know that that would never be a possibility - what is done is done, and I should've thought about my actions before following through with this ridiculous plan. I honestly can't believe that she convinced me to do this, not even convinced, I think manipulated would be a better word to use in this case. Nevertheless, its all my fault - I have a mind of my own for a reason. And that's to make my own decisions with careful thought and consideration, without just going through with whatever a random stranger tells me.
I always thoughts that I could save lives, but instead, today, I'm hurting all those I love around me. These animals in this desolate forest provided me with a home when I was once abandoned, and now, well now I had hurt them. Leaving in
- unercornshine
-
Scratcher
65 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Writing from cabin wars
word count: 657
(this story is based on my interpretation of the song devils don't fly)
I put my hands to my temples to stop the searing pain going through my head as I knelt in exhaustion. I screeched and fell to the floor, tears streaming down my eyes. My body then gave up resistance. I fell backwards, hitting my head against the cold stone flood before a curtain of black blocked my eyesight. I saw a figure, with white robes, beautiful silky wings of cascading feathers and a golden ring above its head. It seemed to say:
“Natalia, do not forget us, we are always watching”, before disappearing out of sight and snapping me back to reality.
“Natalia, NATALIA!!!” someone screamed into my ears. I looked beside me to see drake bending over me in concern. “Are you ok? I heard you screaming and came immediately but you were tossing and turning on the floor like you were possessed or something. I was really scared.”
“Drake, Drake, you’ll never believe it! I had a vision from the angels!” I whooped in delight.
“Natalia are you ok?” he said with a trace of concern in his voice.
“I-I-I I just can't stop the screams inside my head. I remember when they had me, flying high like Sid and Nancy.” I explained with a much more doubtful voice.
He sat me up on a chair, brushing his hands through my hair before hugging me tight. I gave him a bent smile before breaking down and weeping into his chest.
“They say it's not the answer, but I can't carry on, ‘Cause I got nowhere, no one, without you boy I’m done, and when I'm gone, remember you're the one, and just because I fight doesn't mean that I never learned how to love, I wasn't born without a heart. You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”
“You’ve just got to be strong you know, that's my girl.” he smirked.
“B-B-But, what's a girl to do when she’s not strong, when everyone that holds my hands gets cut from all the thorns. I used to put my ears against the walls, to hear the screams, to hear the falls, more reasons to escape it all. And it's not the answer, but I can't carry on, I gave my best smile, my last dime, but I'm always getting wrong. It's not ‘cause I'm young, or from a broken home, maybe I just fought ‘cause I don't know where I belong. You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”
“Wow, Natalia I-”
“Oh drake!” I said as I hugged him tightly.
“You know that angels were never meant to fall, and you were the loveliest of all, if I thought that God could fix this, then I would pray for your forgiveness, but I've been cast out, thrown out, when I crossed to the dark side. No, devils don't fly! You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”
I stood up, and hugged Drake really tight clawing at his back, before pulling back and kissing him on the lips, much to his suprise. Though tears were still dropping down my face, this was the happiest I've ever been, to be able to express my feelings to someone.
“I love you, Drake.”
“I love you too…”
word count: 657
(this story is based on my interpretation of the song devils don't fly)
I put my hands to my temples to stop the searing pain going through my head as I knelt in exhaustion. I screeched and fell to the floor, tears streaming down my eyes. My body then gave up resistance. I fell backwards, hitting my head against the cold stone flood before a curtain of black blocked my eyesight. I saw a figure, with white robes, beautiful silky wings of cascading feathers and a golden ring above its head. It seemed to say:
“Natalia, do not forget us, we are always watching”, before disappearing out of sight and snapping me back to reality.
“Natalia, NATALIA!!!” someone screamed into my ears. I looked beside me to see drake bending over me in concern. “Are you ok? I heard you screaming and came immediately but you were tossing and turning on the floor like you were possessed or something. I was really scared.”
“Drake, Drake, you’ll never believe it! I had a vision from the angels!” I whooped in delight.
“Natalia are you ok?” he said with a trace of concern in his voice.
“I-I-I I just can't stop the screams inside my head. I remember when they had me, flying high like Sid and Nancy.” I explained with a much more doubtful voice.
He sat me up on a chair, brushing his hands through my hair before hugging me tight. I gave him a bent smile before breaking down and weeping into his chest.
“They say it's not the answer, but I can't carry on, ‘Cause I got nowhere, no one, without you boy I’m done, and when I'm gone, remember you're the one, and just because I fight doesn't mean that I never learned how to love, I wasn't born without a heart. You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”
“You’ve just got to be strong you know, that's my girl.” he smirked.
“B-B-But, what's a girl to do when she’s not strong, when everyone that holds my hands gets cut from all the thorns. I used to put my ears against the walls, to hear the screams, to hear the falls, more reasons to escape it all. And it's not the answer, but I can't carry on, I gave my best smile, my last dime, but I'm always getting wrong. It's not ‘cause I'm young, or from a broken home, maybe I just fought ‘cause I don't know where I belong. You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”
“Wow, Natalia I-”
“Oh drake!” I said as I hugged him tightly.
“You know that angels were never meant to fall, and you were the loveliest of all, if I thought that God could fix this, then I would pray for your forgiveness, but I've been cast out, thrown out, when I crossed to the dark side. No, devils don't fly! You know, devils don't fly. So, don't expect me not to fall, devils don't fly, but God we almost had it all. How come we got chains, and they got wings, you know that life ‘aint fair sometimes, devils don't fly, but I try.”
I stood up, and hugged Drake really tight clawing at his back, before pulling back and kissing him on the lips, much to his suprise. Though tears were still dropping down my face, this was the happiest I've ever been, to be able to express my feelings to someone.
“I love you, Drake.”
“I love you too…”
- silverlynx-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
Daily 16th March
I slid my laptop under my bed, my heart thumping in my chest.
“Come on!”
Mum stormed into my room, her face dark.
“What were you doing?”
I faltered. I didn’t want to lie… but I couldn’t tell her.
“I-I was getting ready for Diwali.” I stuttered.
She stared at my outfit, her face creasing with deep worry lines.
“You can’t wear that!” She exclaimed.
I flinched. She sighed and shook her head.
“Get into your outfit and come downstairs. You’re not being a good example to your sister.”
With that she glided out of the room and slammed the door. I slid on my dress. It was a deep berry-red with radiant golden lines tracing their way down the ruffled ends. I felt completely out of place in it.
I bounced onto my bed and opened up my laptop, typing furiously. Mum didn’t even know I had this old thing. It was battered and some of the keys were popping out of the keyboard, their springs rusty and ancient. My best friend had given it to me, knowing my love of writing. I smiled. For her and for me, any complicated or expensive device was a treasure, not to be given away at any cost. And yet here I was. Guilt pierced my heart. I typed a quick message then hurried out of my room.
i might be a bit inactive lately ;( gotta speedrun the weekly lol
I lifted up a clay lamp, the material heavy and dry, flaking at my clumsy touch. I desperately wished that I could join my sister on the floor, who was dutifully designing patterns called rangoli with vibrantly coloured powders. I yearned to type, allow my fingers to fly across the keyboard, all of my wild ideas and fantastical adventures flowing through them and into the laptop. I yearned to talk to all of my friends on Scratch, who didn’t have to spend time obediently carrying out traditions.
Right now most of them would be in sunny America, lying on the golden sand by the rippling salty oceans or typing endlessly on their phones or laptops. It was a faraway dream to me, yet I felt as though my fingers were brushing against the opportunity, missing them by a millimetre. But I couldn’t spend long on Scratch, because Mum would find out. My sister, Ahana, would never even consider anything that I had been doing.
Ahana. She was so sweet, so good, so sensible. She would be shocked to discover my laptop, even more so if she discovered SWC. I loved my little sister, and I wanted to be closer, but I was so different to her. She had a kind, sincere heart that would never lie. My heart longed to be like hers but longed even more to participate in SWC, to be with all of my close friends. Yet again, guilt pierced my heart. I hated keeping this a secret from her.
“Sudiksha!”
I nodded feebly.
“Look at your sister. She is paying the utmost attention to Diwali. But you - you’re far away in a distant land, not placing clay pots on the wall!”
I gulped, holding back tears. I wanted to tell the truth.
Say it then!
No. I couldn’t. She would be so angry, fuming, furious at me. I was scared.
Tell her!
I scrambled up the stairs, tears stinging in my eyes.
“Sudiksha! Come here immediately!”
I ignored her. I tumbled onto my bed and closed my eyes, drifting into a troubled sleep.
I slid my laptop under my bed, my heart thumping in my chest.
“Come on!”
Mum stormed into my room, her face dark.
“What were you doing?”
I faltered. I didn’t want to lie… but I couldn’t tell her.
“I-I was getting ready for Diwali.” I stuttered.
She stared at my outfit, her face creasing with deep worry lines.
“You can’t wear that!” She exclaimed.
I flinched. She sighed and shook her head.
“Get into your outfit and come downstairs. You’re not being a good example to your sister.”
With that she glided out of the room and slammed the door. I slid on my dress. It was a deep berry-red with radiant golden lines tracing their way down the ruffled ends. I felt completely out of place in it.
I bounced onto my bed and opened up my laptop, typing furiously. Mum didn’t even know I had this old thing. It was battered and some of the keys were popping out of the keyboard, their springs rusty and ancient. My best friend had given it to me, knowing my love of writing. I smiled. For her and for me, any complicated or expensive device was a treasure, not to be given away at any cost. And yet here I was. Guilt pierced my heart. I typed a quick message then hurried out of my room.
i might be a bit inactive lately ;( gotta speedrun the weekly lol
I lifted up a clay lamp, the material heavy and dry, flaking at my clumsy touch. I desperately wished that I could join my sister on the floor, who was dutifully designing patterns called rangoli with vibrantly coloured powders. I yearned to type, allow my fingers to fly across the keyboard, all of my wild ideas and fantastical adventures flowing through them and into the laptop. I yearned to talk to all of my friends on Scratch, who didn’t have to spend time obediently carrying out traditions.
Right now most of them would be in sunny America, lying on the golden sand by the rippling salty oceans or typing endlessly on their phones or laptops. It was a faraway dream to me, yet I felt as though my fingers were brushing against the opportunity, missing them by a millimetre. But I couldn’t spend long on Scratch, because Mum would find out. My sister, Ahana, would never even consider anything that I had been doing.
Ahana. She was so sweet, so good, so sensible. She would be shocked to discover my laptop, even more so if she discovered SWC. I loved my little sister, and I wanted to be closer, but I was so different to her. She had a kind, sincere heart that would never lie. My heart longed to be like hers but longed even more to participate in SWC, to be with all of my close friends. Yet again, guilt pierced my heart. I hated keeping this a secret from her.
“Sudiksha!”
I nodded feebly.
“Look at your sister. She is paying the utmost attention to Diwali. But you - you’re far away in a distant land, not placing clay pots on the wall!”
I gulped, holding back tears. I wanted to tell the truth.
Say it then!
No. I couldn’t. She would be so angry, fuming, furious at me. I was scared.
Tell her!
I scrambled up the stairs, tears stinging in my eyes.
“Sudiksha! Come here immediately!”
I ignored her. I tumbled onto my bed and closed my eyes, drifting into a troubled sleep.
- unercornshine
-
Scratcher
65 posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
critique for @starunicorn_5
'Just give me the ruby'
'Lisa come with me, and no one has to get hurt.'In think this is a very powerful opening as it adds mystery to the story, you think ‘what will Lisa do’, it fills your head with questions. It also gives you a bit of an idea of what situation the story is in by showing that they are in the middle of a pressing situation and it gives the name of one of the characters. Its usually hard to know how to start an excerpt but I think you've done that really well.
'Just give me the ruby'
Starting to introduce what the story is about, showing the object that I have inferred that everyone is going to be fighting over. Again, a good start to your excerpt.a husky voice rasped
anda feminine voice resisted
adds mystery to the protagonists, not mentioning their names. I wanted to say that I think ‘resisted’ may not have been quite the right word to add here. Personally, I am kinda confused as to what resisted is supposed to meen here, but thats just my opinion.'Lisa, come with me, and no one has to get hurt. Just give me the ruby,' a husky voice rasped. ‘Lukas, you have no idea how powerful this is… you don’t know what you're doing,' a feminine voice resistedIn some of the pieces in your writing, like this one, you have not started on a new line for a new character speaking. I don't know if this was on purpose or just because of the way the forum displayed it but I just wanted to point it out because when I read it to before “a feminine voice resisted” I thought that it was part of what husky voice was saying if you get what I mean.Well, you asked for it…'A veryminor mistake, but, you have forgot to put the first quotation mark.Well, you asked for it…' Lukas whispered. ‘If I manage to destroy it?’ the woman hissed. ‘Someone has to get it sooner or later, possibly future generations,’ Lukas extended his hand. ‘We can rule the world together, Lisa, just take my hand.’Again here, you have not started on a new line for every new speaker, it makes it kind of jumbled up and confusing, hard to understand. I have seen that you have started on a new line for Lisa, therefore I have realised you have probably done this for emphasis, but, ide advise you to start on a new line for every new speaker because it just makes it more clear.
'No!' Lisa shouted.The walls of the shaggy warehouse loomed overhead as if to intimidate them. Drops of diesel dropped from the panels. The heavy thunderstorm shadowed Lukas.Very good, wonderful use of pathetic fallacy, adds mystery.Suddenly, his hand lunged out to grab Lisa's ruby. Lukas dragged his emerald to touch Lisa's ruby.Also, another minor mistake: you have started with the pronoun of his, I find it unnecessary to switch to his name then switch back to his pronoun, though thats just my opinion.Suddenly, his hand lunged out to grab Lisa's ruby. Lukas dragged his emerald to touch Lisa's ruby. Lisa pulled away. Quick as lighting, he slipped out of Lisa's view and rose up behind her. When she felt a hand grab for her ruby, Lisa twisted away. But Lukas held on. Lisa sprung away, but it was too late.Very good, I feel you could have added more suspense by using short sentences and a bit more flow, apart from that its pretty good.The ruby and the emerald were united, and the ruby swirled around the emerald in a dizzying look.I just wanted to say that I like this very much for no particular reason.Suddenly, his hand lunged out to grab Lisa's ruby. Lukas dragged his emerald to touch Lisa's ruby.Another minor mistake, you do not need to repeat ‘Lisa’s ruby' you can just use a pronoun like it or her ruby.Quick as lighting, he slipped out of Lisa's view and rose up behind her.Again, pronouns, the focus has switched to Lisa so instead of saying he its better to again switch the focus to Lukas and use his name instead.Lukas got up wearily, dazed from the shock of being plummeted out of the warehouse and into the rain.Cool, very goodAs he came to light, Lisa glimpsed the manic grin on his faceCool, again. It adds some mystery to Lukas's character as at this point ur thinking ‘is this guy the villain or a hero’Instead of the shining, hopeful green of his Taurus emerald, there was an abyss. A never-ending, gloomy darkness.Adds mystery, ‘why are the emeralds gloomy dark’ ‘what is going to happen’Lisa cast her last spell. She made a diamond with her hands, then burst them apart. The next moment, the ruby was gone. And so was Lukas.Really cool, adds lots of suspense what is going to happen, where is Lukas, what happens to all the jewels. A very good ending
overall It is a really good piece and a pleasure to read
Vicky out
- wolfiebear-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread ➷ march 2024
weekly 2
mildly rushed but then again what isnt ;] i think i'll finish the fanfic maybe for the writing contest (sorry i didn't get to do much with the cameos!)
mildly rushed but then again what isnt ;] i think i'll finish the fanfic maybe for the writing contest (sorry i didn't get to do much with the cameos!)
Magnolia Jones, known as Maggie to everyone she knew, was aware of the implications of her name. When her class had done an etymology report on their names in second grade, Maggie learned that hers signified a love of nature. Maggie hated nature. She hated the outdoors. She would much rather be inside in her clean, air conditioned room reading a book or working on her latest novel idea than in the dirty, humid out-of-doors.
This is why she was royally * that her mom had told her neighbors that she would take care of their garden while they were on a cruise. For three months. Three. Months. Three months of toiling in the hot summer sun. Three months of getting dirty every day. Three months of cultivating silly plants that probably will die under her care. The only bonus is that she was getting paid. Maggie was not the type that would do anything for money, so it did little to comfort her.
She was so upset she tried to get her mom to make her little brother do it. “No Maggie, he’s too young. He’ll ruin the plants.” What a loser.
A week later and her neighbors had just left. Maggie was standing outside, sweat already dripping down her face from the 90 degree weather. And the humidity! She had a list of instructions on her phone and started to gather the materials. Maggie placed a shovel, a bigger shovel, a watering can, a hose, and a sprinkler head next to the garden bed. She had no idea what to do with the sprinkler so she tried to screw it in, accidentally flicking the on switch as she did it. Water started spraying out of the hose, drenching Maggie in seconds. She was trying to turn off the sprinkler but she also couldn’t see. After fighting with the hose for several minutes she managed to turn it off. She was even more angry than before, but at least the water had cooled her off a bit.
She figured out how to properly connect the sprinkler and put it in place. Then Maggie started watering the plants with the watering can, making sure to only get the bottom like she was told. She was surprised that it wasn’t as awful as she imagined, and over the next months she learned to love the plants under her care, and saw them grow into beautiful roses and raspberry bushes and pea vines. When her neighbors returned that August, they were so pleased with her and the plants that they asked if she would do it whenever they left.
“Of course! I’d be honored.”
And that was how Magnolia grew into her name.
(Pun unintended)
Once upon a time there was an alligator princess named Greta. She was the most beautiful alligator in all the alligator kingdoms, and she was very haughty. She wanted an alligator wife, but nobody was as pretty as her and she wouldn’t settle for less. She decided to hold a contest to see if there was anyone as beautiful as her. She posted an advertisement all over the kingdom for any alligator who wanted to marry her to come to the palace. She first weeded out all the non-alligators who came, and then all the male ones for they were definitely ugly. Then she had them all come to her and she dismissed them
“How dare you parade around in a snout that only a mother could love—if she had a blindfold on!”
one
“Oh, my scaly friend, you're the very picture of beauty, if beauty were a crime and you were serving a life sentence!”
by
“With hide so rough and charm so dreary, you're the epitome of grace if grace were left in a swamp overnight and forgotten!”
one.
Until late that night, after most of the candidates had left, one beautiful alligator came into the room. She had a perfect snout and scales so shiny they reflected the marble floor.
“Now…what is your name?”
“I’m Lacerta, Your Highness.”
Such a beautiful name, Greta thought, And such a beautiful girl… The princess was so threatened by the other alligator’s immense beauty that that night she called upon the alligator gods to take Lacerta away from her. The gods did just that, but they placed her in the sky where Greta would always be able to see and as a haunting reminder that Greta was not, in fact, the most beautiful alligator in all the kingdom.
And that is how the Lacerta constellation came to be.
https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxyberklee.flo.org/projects/983980792/
Everyone screamed when they woke up on March 16th and realized that they were alligators. Maia jumped–or as much of a jump as an alligator can do–from her spot in the Woods when she realized she was now green and scaly. On further inspection, they realized that their alligator form had some distinct resemblance to herself as a human. Their head was a rusty color and their eyes were still gray, but her torso was definitely green and her tail had a bit of a beige shine to it. Maia then learned that walking as an alligator was rather difficult, and spent the next thirty minutes figuring out how to waddle around.
Everywhere she looked she could see Tragedy campers trying to learn how to walk as well. Everyone’s alligator form looked slightly different, a nod to how they all had looked as humans. The leaders seemed as confused as everyone else, so Maia figured they wouldn’t have any more answers than she did.
They were trying to figure out why this had happened, and ran through some possibilities in her head. It could be the daily team, perhaps forcing them to write about what it’s like to be another animal. It could be another cabin–probably Fantasy, those guys would do anything to take down us, their enemies. Maybe it was the Woods, playing another trick on us to lower our morale.
Maia figured that the only way to get answers was to find out if this was happening to anyone else. She decided to check in at the Sci-Tragedy Rift, a hangout space for the siblings Sci-Fi and Tragedy. They looked around to see if anyone would come with them, but everyone seemed preoccupied with being alligators. She wandered down the path towards the Rift.
Once she got there, Maia saw everyone–even the Sci-Fi campers–were alligators. An alligator with a brown snout and gray-green eyes waved at her, and she recognized it as Surf, a Sci-Fi camper.
“Hey Surf!” Maia called out as she waddled over to them.
“Hi Maia! This is crazy, do you know why we’re all alligators?” Surf seemed curious about the change, not panicking like some of the other campers.
“I don’t,” Maia shook her head, “I came here to see if I could figure anything out.”
“Me too.” Surf agreed. “So it’s not just Sci-Fi?”
“Nope, Tragedy is also alligator-ed.”
“Let's check the Main Cabin, maybe it was another hilarious prank by the daily team.”
Maia laughed, “Yeah, sounds good!”
The two alligators opened the door of the Main Cabin and walked into absolute chaos. Apparently it wasn't just a couple cabins, but all of them.
“Well, this is fun.” Surf looked around, mirroring Maia's stunned expression. There were alligators everywhere, trying to jump on things, trying to eat cereal out of tiny bowls, and there were several campers attempting to get to a higher shelf by piling themselves on top of each other. Maia snorted a laugh when they all fell down, giggling.
Behind her, a voice called out “Maia! Surf! Hi guys!”
The two turned around and saw Faith, an alligator of course, waving at them with a smile on her alligator face.
“Hey Faith!” Maia yelled back, fighting through the crowd of reptiles to get to her, Surf on their heels.
They got there, breathless from exertion–running, as an alligator, through a mass of alligators is hard, okay? Faith grinned at them, “This is so silly!”
“That's sure one word for it.” Maia replied.
“Do you know why?” Surf asked, getting to the point.
“Nope! It must be some sort of SWC magic or something…”
They saw Silk coming towards them as well. “Did you hear that the hosts are alligators too?”
Maia and Surf gaped at each other. “The hosts??”
To be continued…possibly!