Original Scene:

Now, they may tell you that in the history of the Games, there has never been one that went wrong. This happens to be false.

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Years ago, decades before you were born, there was a Game. It started out fairly normal, but soon enough, something went wrong.

Obstacles were broken, the wooden platforms unsteady and battered up, their nails taken out. The ocean water was suddenly harmful, causing skin to blister and burn. The maze was reconstructed, and this time, there was no exit. Ropes were tattered, supplies were hidden, giant puzzle pieces were deformed, and the host acted strange.

Their eyes were blank, and their heart barely seemed to be beating. Other contestants were dying too, from poisoned water, or from injuries too serious to heal.

That was when one team decided to do something about it. They knew that there was someone amongst them doing this. So they gathered around a campfire, the flames lighting their faces, and began discussing how to deal with their problem.

.

“I can’t believe it,” murmured Ell, gingerly cradling her broken arm. “This has never happened before.”

“Well, we need to do something! We’re running out of supplies!” said Mira. She couldn’t believe it either, but they needed to focus on surviving this problem and making it out alive — traitor be * or not.

Beside her, Allen and Tomi met each other’s eyes, a moment of vulnerability passing through the siblings. Tomi wanted to give up, her usual attitude laying forgotten. Allen took her hand in his and squeezed it.

Peg scowled, crossing their arms and glaring at the blondie. “Then whatcha you suggesting we do, dummy? We can’t do anythin’, and there’s no point anyway.”

Mira fumed. “Of course we can! Why do you have to be this- this pessimistic?” Hissed the girl. She could never understand why Peg was like this. Why they were so depressing. Couldn’t they see she was just trying to keep them all together?

“I’m not pessimistic! ‘M just trying to be realistic!”

“That’s not what you call realistic, that’s what you call bringing everyone down!”

As their argument raged on, two lone contestants sitting the furthest away from the fire looked at each other stonily. Normally, they would be talking and chatting heartily, but this wasn’t normal.
Oh no, this wasn’t normal at all. This was a matter of the utmost importance, and yet no one gave them a second look.

The taller of the two gave the other a glare, and quietly but sharply pulled him away to a more secluded area of the campsite. “What do you think you’re doing?” They whispered, a hint of desperation laced in their voice.

“Q-quill, you know that I’m not—“ He protested, struggling to break free. And for a moment, Quill believed it. She believed everything: the lies, the luck, the whole lot. But then she remembered who was in front of her and what he had done.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not talking about you, Rin.”

“Then who are you… oh.” Rin’s voice fell, then rose, and their pupils slit and their teeth sharpened. “Hello, Quill.” His usually normal voice vibrated slightly, like the plucking of the strings of a bass.

Quill thundered at the demon possessing her distant cousin, pushing all her willpower into her fire-eyed glare, her beanie falling to the ground as she abruptly shoved her finger in His chest.

“I need you to stop this. Right now! We’ll die!” She kicked Him in the shin, knowing full well it wouldn’t affect Rin later. “You need to tell them that you did this. Tell them right now, or else I’m giving you ten times the pain you’re giving Rin!”

The demon whistled. “Alas, I cannot. That would mean dying myself! How could you even suggest such a thing?” He smiled with teeth that weren’t His, and let just the barest hint of His true power seep through. Quill would know soon enough not to meddle with His plans.

She gave Him one last look, before dragging him back to the campfire.

“Fine. Then I’m telling them myself.” She said.

Flipped Scene:

“I can’t believe it.” Ell clutched her wounded arm, staring sadly at Mira. “I can’t believe she would do this.”

“Me neither, but we need to do something about it. Throw her out, force her to undo what she did, do anything!” Before Mira realised it, she was yelling. She sobbed, wishing on her life that what they now knew wasn’t true, but knowing that wish would never come true. She had never wanted this.

One of the siblings frowned, not enjoying the atmosphere. Just as she opened her mouth to crack a joke to lighten up the room, her brother squeezed her hand and shook his head. This was a sombre occasion, and it wasn’t the time for jokes.

Another contestant spoke up, arms crossed. “Then why don’t we just confront her?” They suggested, not being that rude for once. Mira sighed at them.

“We can’t just do that! You know what he said: it’s dangerous!” She wasn’t in the mood to deal with this right now.

“It can’t be that dangerous.”

“Yes it can! Do you want any more of us to get hurt?”

The two flung everything they had at each other, and Ell’s eyes cast downward. Why couldn’t the two of them get along for once? Now wasn’t the time for this!

Meanwhile, Quill fled from the campsite, with Rin trailing behind her. They reached a cave not long after, and the two sat in the dark, Quill’s amazingly small tears leaking out for just a second. “Rin? What do you think you’re doing?” She faced them with a miserable face.

For a second, Rin’s eyes flashed, and she regretted saying that to her closest confidant. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this!” She screamed for a sudden, emotions pouring out in the most revealing way it could. Why couldn’t Rin just give her a straight answer for once? “All of this! What’s gotten into you?!” Quill screamed into the cave walls hopelessly as the other looked on nonchalantly.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Rin drawled, too-long tongue flicking over too-sharp teeth.

Galaxy_Awesome wrote:

Photographs:

Harue Ichika sat on her bed, soft light streaming through the window. It was a cold winter night, and snow littered the ground outside, falling from the sky like confetti.

She and her brother had just come back from their little adventure at Horizon Academy. Ichika knew it was technically breaking and entering, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It had been a long time since she last did anything even remotely fun with Fuji.

284 days, to be exact - she had been keeping track. And that had only been a 10 minute long ice cream detour.

Ichika sighed. It was bound to end at some point, she thought. You were bound to go back to your normal routine. Fuji is busy — you know that. The small voice in her brain whispered. The breeze outside her window seemed to agree.

“Come on, Fuji! Let’s go to bed. It’s 1 am,” she yelled across the giant bedroom, deciding that if she couldn’t have fun with him, she might as well make him sleep.

Squinting, Ichika could just barely see Fuji shaking his head. He was hunched over his desk, investigating the photos they had found at the Academy. Specifically, the ones with her mother in it.

They were interesting, to Ichika. It was rare enough for her to see her mother in a neutral mood. But the pictures had her being more than that. They had her happy. The younger version of Harue Akari was smiling brightly, her ribboned sweater and denim skirt matching perfectly.

Looks like Mom always was a fashionista. Ichika smiled fondly at the memory of the photo. There were others, of course. But that one was and would always be her favourite.

Ichika fixed her smile, determinedly heading over to her brother and nudging him to the warm confines of his bed. The older twin grumbled and moaned, murmuring swears under his breath, but complied, eventually falling asleep in a bundle of pillows he took from her own king sized bed.

Now the photos were in her hands and Fuji no longer focused on them, she started to notice several more details.

In her favourite picture, confetti lay on the ground and the background sported a banner with “Happy Birthday, Harue!” emblazoned on it. In another, her mother was tackling an older boy to the ground. He had the same eyes and the same dyed purple hair, and Ichika couldn’t imagine him not being related to her at all.

Maybe it was her Uncle Matoyo, who she’d never met? Shaking her head, Ichika jotted it down in her mental folder of family mysteries. Focusing in another photo, she could see Harue Akari standing with two girls, one with beautiful blue eyes and another with impossibly pale skin. The latter was the only one not smiling, yet Ichika could see fondness in her eyes.

Suddenly, she laughed. Right in the corner were a pair of eyes peeking at the camera. The person had a tuft of dark hair that she couldn’t directly place.

Wait. Why am I enjoying this so much? The girl frowned. These were just old memories, long forgotten by the people in them. Besides, her real mother was in the room across the hall at that very moment. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard to talk to her in person?

Steeling herself, Ichika tried to get up and out of the room. She tried, she really did! But she just couldn’t. Her legs refused to move, and her arms refused to budge. Her whole body wouldn’t do it. It barely moved at all; not even a single inch.

Why can’t I move?

Ichika tried again. And again. And again. And still her body rebelled. Her breathing started to come in short, shallow gasps, and goosebumps started to form, her whole being trembling and twitching.

N-no. This can’t be happening. Why can’t I move? Why aren’t I moving? Tears trickled down her cheeks, her knuckles white from gripping the cotton blankets like it was her life.

I-I can’t move. Ichika realized numbly.

I can’t move.

(682 words)

Ichika?

(Oxalis:
- Superstitious
- Detached
- Sleepy
- Critical
- Airy
- Calm
- Eye for detail
- The most neutral person you’ll ever meet
- Regretful of decisions
- Clever/Cunning/Witty)

My first character (based on the Oxalis flower) is superstitious — not so much as to make it a major character trait, but enough to cause some bumps in the plot. On the outside, he may appear to be detached, overcritical, and not consider many things worth his time, but once you prove to him that you’re trustworthy, you’ll see that he just prefers to not involve himself in other people’s problems and has low energy.

He’s airy and lighthearted, drifting along with the tide. You could throw him in a completely new environment, and he’d stay calm and simply adapt to it! He’s a very unbiased and reliable person during an argument, though he tends to doubt in his decisions and may regret them even if they were right.

He can be rather clever in the way that he is able to find work arounds to almost any problem. His inner eye for detail helps. Unfortunately, he’s not very good at finding the opposite: simple, straight forward solutions.

(Fritillaria:
- High expectations
- Successful, but real skills are hidden below that
- Polite
- Eccentric
- Tries to stand out
- Good team player
- Sensitive
- Intimidating when they want to be
- Bottles up feelings until they burst
- Overachiever)

My second character may at first seem like a foil to my first one, but once you know them better, they’re more similar than you think. They’re successful and studious, and tend to set high expectations for themselves — expectations they might not be able to reach, though with their determination? They’ll find a way!

Despite being successful in a great many aspects, their real skills and hobbies are buried deep below, along with their inner eccentricity. They push it deeper and deeper, until even they themself forgets about it sometimes, trying to mold themself into what people think they are, including acting polite even when they don’t mean it.

They try to stand out, but unbeknownst to them, they work better in a small team than alone. Because of their ‘I am a polite, high ranking, and studious person” semi-facade, they may give off a bad and intimidating aura sometimes, and they might have a lot of inner growth to do, but once they realise that, they’ll try their hardest to do so. Their intimidating feel can also be used as an advantage! Just be careful, they’re a little sensitive inside.

(“He had never seen so many homeless people in one place”

“Gerascophobia”)

The second character — Juno — is a gifted young person in a city of wealth and prestige: the perfect environment for them. However, things have been growing strange in the city, and more and more people are becoming homeless. Money is disappearing from banks and bank accounts, and there is no traceable culprit.

The worst thing is that a new illness is spreading, and there’s no one who can stop it. Like oldness, but times ten and in a body of any age.

The first character, Calle, is one of the less fortunate citizens of the city. Most, if not all the people around him are now homeless, and he and his family are barely getting by, with his mother falling to the illness. Juno, who is terrified of growing old and dying miserably, is turning their back on the city’s problem, even though their father had recently gotten the Illness.

Unfortunately, someone has framed them as the culprit of the disasters, and Calle — who had recently run into Juno near their apartment — is under suspicion as well. Suddenly, it seems like everything is out to get them. and if the two of them don’t clear their names soon and fix this whole situation, then the rest of the world is going to perish too.

Later, they face an illusion of them being old, which leads to Calle’s capture. Juno has to get him out.

(Choc Chip Cookie Dough)

The main setting is the city, and a few areas outside of it. Everything in the city is bathed with raw elegance, but inside, it’s hiding the dark chips of mystery and crime. To everyone on the outside, the city is a marvelous metropolis, but people who live there know all the woes and problems that the city’s leaders turn their backs on. Homeless people, left in the streets and dying, their brains turning into fog. Crime sprees, where you can oneday wake up to find your house trashed and all your things gone.

Outside the city is a harsh land, which is only calm when you respect it. It’s raw, and exposed, and far different than the city. A few farms litter the area, and several casinos and tourist shacks are just near the gates.

But beware, for there is something far more sinister under the city. A maze, built from when the city itself was young, full of secret rooms and riddles and mysterious beings.

However, not everything in the setting is bad. It’s simply like the two sides of a coin. The maze has been known to have a few safe rooms, where the most bombastic parties and events have been held. The Outside will keep you safe and secure as long as you respect it, and if you dig deep into it, you’ll find the most breathtaking places. The common folk of the city knew each other, and helped each other. The city takes care of their own.

(1000+ word story)

Another day, another person falling to the Illness.

A boy called Calle wandered through the streets of Choa City, not really going anywhere — destination didn’t matter to him, as long as he could relax for a little. He looked around him as he walked, his eyes meeting those of the people living on the streets.

He’d never seen this many homeless people in one place before. He kept walking straight ahead, sometimes shooting small smiles to the people he knew.

Soon enough, he rounded a corner, but saw something that slowed his heartbeat almost to a stop. Right there, only a few feet away, was someone who was about to walk under a ladder, just as a black cat crossed their path.

Calle broke into a run, shouting as his feet pounded on the ground; a rock popped up out of seemingly nowhere, and he tackled them on to the pavement.

“Phew,” he murmured, getting up. The person in front of him looked rather affronted, but brushed themself off with a resigned sigh.

“Hello,” they said robotically. “I’m Juno. I am a student at Garden University.”
“You should be more careful. You almost walked under a ladder, and there was a black cat and everything, and you were about thirteen steps away.”

They raised an eyebrow before bowing and doing Choa City’s signature hand signal: a squeeze of your fist, and a circle with three fingers lying across it.
“Thank you for stopping me.”

“No problem.” He replied. Calle nodded, before leaving Juno without another word.

.

Juno Llarian awoke to loud pounding on their apartment door, and City Guardians yelling and counting to ten.

“If you don’t open this door in ten seconds, we’ll have to break in!” Yelled the leader. Juno’s breath caught in their throat, and they rushed to throw on some decent clothes, tripping over the carpet and flinging the door open as the Guardian leader reached “9”.

“What’s wrong?” They asked, panic completely replacing their usual attitude. “What did I do?”

The Commanding Guardian scowled. “You’re under trial for crime against the City’s people.” She declared.

“Now let’s get you to the Courtmasters.”

.

Leaning back on nothing in his rather comfortable chains, Calle faced the Courtmasters. He wasn’t completely sure why he was here. He hadn’t interacted with anyone yesterday, outside of his usual neighbors and Juno. But as long as he stayed calm, and pleaded innocent, Calle was confident he could get through this safely.

Until he saw who the Guardians dragged in to stand beside him.

Juno? Calle was bewildered. They didn’t seem like the type to do anything potentially illegal.

Juno struggled against their chains, meeting the eyes of Calle as they were roughly shoved next to him. What had he done?

“Ahem.” The head Courtmaster cleared his throat, sternly gazing down at the two people in the ring. “Juno Llarian, you are hereby charged with stealing from hundreds of citizens and helping in the making of a potion that has spread the Illness to even more people.”

What? They struggled even more, sweat pouring down their temple in their desperation. This was unfair! They had never done anything! This was an incorrect accusation! And Calle! How could he be so calm in this situation?

The Courtmaster looked Calle right in the eyes. He willingly stared back, though he started to get rather bored after a few tense seconds. His mind drifted off, and he had been about to fall asleep, when BAM!

The Head Courtmaster slammed his hand on his podium. The two pixies hovering beside him — the other Courtmasters — rolled their eyes, and the Head Courtmaster spoke again.

“Calle Maverick, you are hereby charged with distributing and poisoning citizens with illegally made potions!” The other Courtmasters filled a pen with energy until it was thrumming, and pressed the tip down on a paper. Words blossomed with ink, and they held it up for everyone to see.

The punishment for these crimes are: death.

Calle hung his head, but Juno glowered.

They drew up all of their power as an influential and model student, and directed that power into the pure commanding aura that seeped from their skin.
“Sir.” They started, rattling their chains. “This is a mistake. Neither of us has done anything. Let us go.”

“It is not. I assure you, Mx. Llarian, that I have quite plainly seen your fingerprints and DNA on the crime scenes, and a confidant has told me much, much more.”

“But!” They protested.

The Courtmaster wouldn’t hear any of it. “Take them to the Execution Chamber!” He ordered.

The Guardians closed in.

.

This is our chance, thought Calle. He followed the Guardians at the front, and took in their movements, and their clothes, and what could be used against them. He looked at them again, to make sure they wouldn’t overhear, and leaned over to Juno, who remained strangely quiet.

“That Guardian beside you has an unprotected enchanted dagger.” He whispered conspiratorially. “We can use it to escape.”

Juno smiled stiffly and politely as an agreement. “That I will do.” They edged closer and closer to the Guardians, attempting to distract their attention as Calle tried to take the dagger. “Hello. What’s your name?” They asked the Guardian.

She looked surprised to see the ‘criminal’ talking to her. “It's Daisy, actually,” they mumbled, blushing embarrassedly.

“Don’t talk to the fugitive, Daisy!” Yelled a voice from the front.

“S-sorry!” She wrung her hands. Juno kept talking.

Only a little more, Calle. It’s almost out.

“Daisy’s quite the nice name,” they remarked. Daisy blushed, even more, only to gasp as Calle straightened up, the dagger in his hands. He quickly cut both of their chains, and pulled Juno with him as they ran away from the yelling Guardians.

“Come on!” He yelled softly, turning corners in the labyrinth that was the Court Ship. “We need to get to the maze!”

The Guardians roared. “Come back here!”

.

They had reached the Maze. Calle was out of breath and sleepy, and Juno was tired, but the two pushed on. After all, the Guardians were getting closer and closer every second. But they couldn’t do it. It wasn’t possible.

The only thing in sight were twists, turns, booby traps, lanterns, puzzles, and all five of those things in one!
They would never be able to get out in time.

But wait. Through his foggy brain, Calle could discern some thoughts. Mainly, of escaping on the top of the maze. On the walls.

“Juno.” They called, keeling over for breath. “Help me get up to the top of the wall.”

Juno nodded without question, and kneeled down so Calle could climb on their shoulders. There! He could see the exit now: not that far ahead.

The two worked this way for a while. Calle would be on the walls, pointing out the way to the exit, while Juno followed below. But then there was another problem.

Right at the exit, Calle and Juno had started feeling strange. Calle knew it was just a typical maze trick, so he tried to push on, and tried and tried and tried. But it wouldn’t work, not with Juno frozen and staring at themself in horror.

Oh no, they weren’t going to make it, were they?

_____

This was rushed

“What are you doing with that?!” Hissed Louie.
“With what?”
“That thing… in your hand! Don’t play innocent with me. That thing you’re holding may cause the destruction of this whole world!”

Casper raised his eyebrows and held the glowing potion at arm’s length. The new exchange student seemed… weird, if he was honest. The potion was harmless — the teachers themselves had drunk a little bit of it, and they seemed fine, aside from the gurgling.

Which was probably just a small side effect.

“Okay, then,” said Casper. He put the potion on Louie’s table. “Here you go.” The other boy breathed a sigh of relief.

Louie shot him a grin as thanks, moving to clean up his stuff, when— “Whoops.” He cursed under his breath, watching as the potion’s contents spread all over the floor. How could a bottle so small hold this much liquid? It only seemed to increase in volume as it seeped under the door and out into the hallway, Casper and Louie watching as it did.

Casper sighed, and walked out of the room. “I’ll be right back with some mops!” He called.

.

Casper Azure shut the door to the janitor’s closet, two mops and a bucket in his arms. Only ten minutes had passed, yet somehow the hallways were all suspiciously empty and devoid of life.

Where is everyone? Casper bit his lip and kept walking. Hopefully Louie is okay.

He turned one of the various corners in the school, only to be met with the sight of his Astronomy teacher, a celestial who happened to also be his favourite teacher. The lights flickered on and off, and on and off, until it finally settled on some soft, eerie blue lighting that sent shivers up his spine.

Madam Rea smiled a smile that was a little too sharp, the inky deeps of her eyes glittering with a thousand stars.

“H-hello, M-madam…” stammered Casper, holding the mops protectively to his chest.

She lunged.

.

He ran screaming through the corridors, the bucket clattering to the floor and his heart thumping in his chest. At least a dozen assorted students and teachers trailed behind him, all reacting in varying degrees of creepy.

Some cackled manically, while others giggled softly in light, lilting voices. They all had one thing in common, though, and that was following Casper as he dashed about, looking everywhere for the classroom he’d left Louie in.

What happened to them? He frantically yelled in his mind, stumbling over his own feet as the reaching, groping claws of an upperclassmate glitched and crackled right behind him. Did the potion do this?

Probably, he concluded.

“Eugh,” he muttered disgustedly, witnessing the headmaster squelching past him like a slug.

He really needed to get out of here.

But first, Louie.

.

“Louie!” Casper shouted, hastily blocking the classroom doors shut with the mops. “Louie!”

Where is he?

He took one glance at the potion still leaking across the tiles, and jumped up onto the table, head and heart pounding as he searched for Louie with his eyes, not daring to move, just in case another one of them were here.

Louie!

There, in the corner and on the ceiling, was Louie. He couldn’t see the witch’s face, but at least it was confirmation enough that his new acquaintance was okay.

“Louie!” Casper breathed a sigh of relief, and regretted it immediately as Louie crawled out into the light. His hands were sticking to the ceiling like a spider’s, and the faint pink glow of the potion ran along his face. There was a manic look in his eyes, like a predator about to pounce.

Not-Louie held up a rune, neck twisting inhumanly.

The rune for death.

Oh, no.

[Valley, window, empty, desk]

Sunlight filters through the broken glass of the empty classroom window. It illuminates a lonely desk, one that should be filled but isn’t — at least not by the one who is supposed to fill it.

30 year old Rin sighs, tears leaking down her face. When had all this happened? One moment, she was in her first day at her new university, all enthusiastic and what not. The next, she’s here, crying helplessly in her younger brother’s old high school classroom, almost everyone around her dead or dying or just… gone.

“Hey,” says a new voice.

Jacob.

“Hi.” Rin mumbles into her sleeves. Her old friend comes over to the window, a sombre look on his face. It’s only now that Rin notices: tears are coming out of his eyes as well, and he looks as if about to burst into sobs.

“Do you remember what day it is?” Asks Jacob, voice quavering.

Rin nods. “Yes.”

“Do you want to…?” He trails off.

Rin stands up abruptly. “Yes.” She answers.

They leave behind the empty classroom, and all the unspoken ghosts of their pasts fluttering around inside. The broken window only cracks more, and the shards fall upon the lone desk.

It’s been a long time.

.

“So much time has passed,” says Jacob. They pick their way through the little graveyard nestled in the valley.

Rin nods. “I know.” She says. The valley is small and enclosed. Here, she feels like she’s back in that time, all those years ago, when the world was kind, and she was nothing more than a simple young woman with goals and a brother to take care of. When she didn’t have to worry about her strange little nephew, and she didn’t have to mourn the family and friends she lost all those years ago.

No one’s come here in a long while, and somehow Rin feels that that’s for the best. She and Jacob stop in front of a gravestone pushed back to the farthest corners of the graveyard, with moss lining its cracked stone and covering the name emblazoned on it.

“I miss them,” she says suddenly. Jacob crouches, and lays the flowers near the gravestone.

“Me too,” he replies. His hand shakes, and he clasps it around hers.

Rin holds it like a lifeline, and looks her friend in the eye. “All of them?” She asks.

Jacob rests his head on her shoulders, and it feels lighter now, as both their burdens vanish into the cold, cold air. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “All of them.”

Rin smiles a soft, sad smile and looks up into the morning sky, and concludes that perhaps an anniversary such as this one is better shared than alone.

After all, neither of them really had anything to mourn over except an empty, empty grave.

For the first time in years, the fog in the little valley no longer feels down, and heavy. It feels light, and airy, this time, and Rin likes that.

(Daily, 20/7/21)
My current weather is cloudy, but sunny enough, with no wind and painfully average! I decided to give this piece a chaotic and crazed mood to contrast that.
______

Aspen rushed through the streets, tophat held flat to his chest. The sun shined down on his back, and he could only think of one thing:

I have to get to the hospital.

His coat flapped as he ran, and the desperate eyes of the citizens fixed on him. Tears flowed out of his face, only increasing in intensity as he barrelled through the hospital doors.

The new phenomena washing over his town was made clear to him at that exact moment. Patients were everywhere, coming up with dozens of different symptoms, but all sharing one trait.

They convulsed, abnormal deformities sprouting and disappearing at rapid rates. Skin grew swollen and quills appeared, and mouths opened at the most unlikely of places and strange black gunk bust through eyes and ears.

Aspen sobbed.

“Sir?” Asked a voice.

Aspen looked up, nodding. “Y-yes?” He sniffed.

The nurse bit her lip, and gestured for him to come with her, past all the suffering patients being carted here and there. “Your mother is this way, sir.” She said.

He followed her obediently — until he spotted her confinement room. Her name was there, taped to the sleek white door. Without thinking, he burst through.

“Mom!” Cried Aspen. His mother smiled softly, and reached out a weak hand to hold his.

“Aspen,” she whispered. She was in the last, and most deadly stage of the Eldritch Virus, now. No longer was the woman convulsing and mutating. No, at this stage, all she could do was lie still in her bed, her skin shaking like boiling water as she coughed up more of an unnatural black and white gunk.

Aspen laid his head near her chest, feeling the skin wobbling and crying all the while.

“Mom…” His mother smiled softly at him, then—

She coughed.

Aspen drew back in horror, gunk covering his hair and rapidly spreading through his roots and into his body, oblivious to the doctor rushing in. His vision stilted and wavered and changed, colours changing and flashing, and his fingers numb and covered in eyes. Horrible, horrible eyes, yellow eyes with no irises and only a slit pupil, and a tongue licking out from the bottom eyelid.

His mother’s eyes widened.

“Aspen,” she breathed in terror.

Aspen raised his head to meet her eyes.

“Mom,” he choked.

That night, a blanket grew over the world. The sun never went down, and it shined softly down on the people’s backs. No one ever felt wind again. Few clouds littered the landscape, and a new entity began creeping its way with fear into the hearts of humans.

It was an eldritch horror, the king of them all. It had no name to them, and would be a nightmare unspoken.

But to those who had known the eldritch, who had known it, talked to it, in the days when it was human, it would always have a name. Those people sowed the seeds of rumour, and from then on, it had a title whispered in hushes around campfires.

Its name?

The Aspen King. The most vengeful eldritch to have ever come into being.
(But it wasn’t vengeful, exactly. It was simply lost, searching for a mother long gone.)

Daily! 668 words!

Description-based:

Aspen jolted awake. He looked around at the dark, inky void he was in, and the few items that lay on the equally dark floor.

Standing up, he picked his way through them, inspecting them as he went. Most of the items were little baubles — nothing particularly special. He spotted a familiar looking bunny toy, and scrambled over to it. The speckled, white and brown fluff was just as he remembered it, the sparkling black eyes that always seemed to hold his secrets for him twinkling up at him.

Aspen clutched it to his chest, and saw another familiar item from his childhood. His first tophat! The small, maroon coloured piece headwear looked the same as it had years ago, with its signature bright, feathery decor and heat-emanating aura.

More and more toys and baubles and relics appeared, all of them making him smile. His first book, a storybook about a magic cake made of worn parchment paper; his first paper plane, crinkled and made by tiny hands but still efficient; and his favourite toy, a chain of tinkling bells. There were so many that it began to pile up in mounds, dotting the empty black void.

Aspen smiled. He’d missed these things.

Narration-based:

The black void began to wobble and titter, shaking and shaking and sending the piles of childhood relics crashing to the floor.

Aspen’s breathing raced, and he started running, escaping, doing anything to avoid the mess. The floor shook under his feet, and multiple times, he stumbled.

But he got back up again, and that’s what mattered.

Glowing white cracks began to spread through the ground, and pieces of the black void fell away to reveal a white nothingness under them. Aspen screamed. The tophat fell off his head and into the white nothingness, but he ignored it and, still holding the toy bunny, darted to and fro into the darkness ahead of him.

The toy rustled in his arms. Aspen didn’t dare look down, but it floated up to meet his eyes. Its own eyes were strangely closed.

Crack! The area he was standing on was falling, falling away into the white depths, but he kept his eyes on the toy bunny.

It giggled in a rough, old hag voice, before its eyes snapped open.

Aspen resisted the urge to throw up.

The bunny drew closer, caressing his cheek. “Hello,” it whispered in his ear, in its creaky, crackly voice.

Aspen fainted.

Both:

He woke in a white room, boxed in on all sides. There was a screen in front of him, but no projector.

Aspen felt a shiver race down his spine.

Where am I?

All of a sudden, his skin burned. It burned and burned, and his vision wavered, and his memories swam to his mind. His mother, lying down sick on a hospital bed. His mother, coughing on him. Himself, catching the Eldritch Virus.

He looked down, and grief and fear washed over him as he stared atthe skin of his adm. It was dark now, and inky. Eyes were there, with spiky tongues poking out the bottom of the lower eyelid.

He felt his teeth, and nearly cried as he felt the monstrous fangs that had sprouted, and the dozens of twisted tree branches that wound from his scalp waved in agony as his hand reached for them.

Aspen couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Tears flowed out of his arm-eyes as he curled up, whispering to himself, and begging for his mother. The screen in front of him flickered to life, and he cried even harder. There was his mother, on it, reaching out to him. He reached out in response, but felt nothing. His heart shattered.

Mom?

The screen turned off, and darkness crept into the room.

Thousands of thoughts fought for control in his head. Where was she? Why wasn’t she here? What was wrong with him?

He wanted his mother, but his mother wasn’t here. No one was.

Aspen sobbed one last time, and succumbed to the void.

Daily! 497 words
I chose to base my character off of durians! Also, please don’t take any cooking information here as part of or a recipe XD I have no idea how to actually make these
______

Spike smiled in satisfaction. There! The martabak was perfect: just the right amount of filling, and both sides fried for exactly two minutes, resulting in a nice and brown, just crispy enough texture.

Grabbing hold of the spatula, he slid it under and flipped the batch right onto the plate, humming enthusiastically.

“Tone down on that, will you?” Yelled Felicity from the living room.

Spike rolled his eyes. His younger sister could be such a killjoy sometimes. He set about the kitchen, looking for ingredients to make the next platter of snacks: kue lumpur. Aha! He reached for the carton of coconut milk, snatched it out, and poured it into the batter mixture.

“When are those snacks coming?” Felicity yelled again. “My friends are coming in an hour, and we can’t have a good sleepover without snacks!”

“Just wait!” Spike yelled back. He shook back his spiky green-yellow hair.
I should have just tied it up, he rattled at himself. It’s too late to go get it now.

Where was it? Spike ransacked the kitchen cupboards, looking into all the nooks and crannies he knew. The mold was nowhere to be seen. Glancing at the door, he sighed. Felicity!

He poked his head out, eyes fixating on his little sister, who was currently hanging up a couple of their old fairy lights. “Li-li!” He groaned. “Where did you put my cake molds?”

The girl winced. “Uhm,” she began rather sheepishly. “Under the bed. I’ll… get them for you.”

“Under the— bed?” he stared incredulously at Felicity as she scampered away. Thankfully, she ran back soon enough, a cake mold decorated with a few little bits of lint in her hand.

“Here,” she said. Her eyes widened, catching the smell of the martabak. “Woah,” breathed Felicity.

Spike grinned smugly. “Remember, you still have to wait!” He laughed. She harrumphed and stalked away, ears red.

Shaking his head, he smiled fondly and turned to the sink. No way was he going to make linty snacks. He turned on the tap and took out the dishwashing detergent.

Better get cleaning, then, he supposed.

.

“Here are your snacks, my ladies,” Spike mock-bowed, holding out the plates of food. “I also happen to have a surprise in the fridge.” Felicity’s friends dove down on them at once, eager to taste his delicious cooking (a fact to which Felicity would both agree and disagree).

A girl munched heartily on a slice of martabak. “Oh…” she melted. “This is too good, Spike.” She paused to continue her munching. “You should consider going to culinary school!”

Spike laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “You know, maybe I should.” Felicity rolled her eyes.

“I’ll go get that surprise,” he declared after several moments of Felicity staring hard at him to do it. “Trust me, it’ll be the best thing you ever tasted!”

Daily 23/7/21
I generated the number 6 and wrote 375 words!
___

Once, there was a pencil. This pencil was a special pencil. It could talk! It wouldn’t talk in front of the people who used it, though. No, it was far too scared to do that.

The special pencil spent its days being used to write things: things like paperwork, stories, and letters. Sometimes, it was even used to draw! The old woman who owned it was very good at drawing. She could draw anything!

The old woman was also a very nice woman. She cared for her hamsters, her clothes, and her house. She especially cared about her son.

Her son was a young man who loved music. When he didn’t have his own, he would take the special pencil and begin writing songs for his mother — the old woman.

But even with all the nice people surrounding it, the special pencil was scared. It didn’t want to tell the old woman and her son that it could talk, but it felt lonely. It had no one to talk to except its best friend the erased and its rival, the pen.

Today, the special pencil was sitting in its pencil box, surrounded by its normal siblings who couldn’t talk: the colouring pencils.

“Hello!” Said its best friend, the eraser. “How are you feeling today?” It asked.

The special pencil smiled up at it. “I’m feeling okay,” it said. “Have you seen Pen?”

“Pen is over there!” It replied, looking up at the shelf. It was right! There was the pen, crying sadly.
The special pencil and the eraser looked at each other in surprise. Why was Pen crying?

The special pencil yelled up at the pen. “Hello!” It shouted, “Are you okay, Pen?”
“No.” The pen shook its head. “I’m stuck up here!” It cried. Oh no! The special pencil and the eraser frowned in worry. What would they do? They couldn’t get up on the shelf by themselves! They would get stuck there too!

The old woman’s footsteps walked to the door. Phew!

“Don’t worry!” Said the eraser. “The old woman will get you down!”

And the old woman did! She came in and picked up the pen, putting its tip on a piece of paper. The pen smiled. Finally, they were safe!

Weekly #3!
Task One, Beginning of Task 4, 302 words:

You drift along a sewer, and paddle wildly in the dirty, mucky liquid. A wave of it comes and buries you, clogging your sight as you reach for the surface. The moment you get fresh air, you dive, and hand on to the sides of the sewer, fighting the flow.

A woman comes up to you, from the side, smiling softly.
“Hello,” says the woman. Her clothes are strange, and not in the style of a known planet. What is she doing here, near the Wasteland, dressed in finery and foreign clothing? She reaches out her hand, and you grip it, desperate to get out of the sewer.
“Thank you,” you smile gratefully, bowing. The woman nods, and holds out an Air Cleaner.

Strange, you think. That model’s at least 50 years out of date. Nevertheless, it’s efficient enough, and you direct it at your face as it begins cleaning up the muck and grime.

“What is your name?” Asks the old woman. That’s when you notice the rose stuck to her sash. Your tears start to swell, dripping over your newly cleaned face. You sob, and wipe your face on your sleeve.

“S-sorry,” you sniff.“I-i don’t particularly remember my name. I’m from beyond the Wasteland Forests.”

The old woman nods, pats your back with her beautiful, gloved hand, and fixes her hat. She has a flowery aroma about her, rare for someone who lives on this neglected, barren planet. It reminds you of your own home, with the flowers you’d grown dedicatedly for years.

“Would you like to come and stay with me for supper?” The flower woman asks. “We may be able to get you cleaned up, if you do,” warmly, she holds her hand out for you to take.

You bite your lip, wondering: what should you do?

A) Come with the flower woman and stay for supper
B) Decline the invitation and continue your current journey

Task Two, 255 words:

The shining golden hovership hovers along the black highway, with its equally shiny driving drones steering it.
You’ve been travelling for many hours now, and the crow perched on your shoulder is beginning to miss his home.

Taking a sugary pastry from a compartment, you offer it to the crow. He shakes his head, flutters his feathers, then shivers. He’s freezing. You are, too, but you have the heater in your new tech-fabric clothes, and he doesn’t.

“Well,” he begins, looking you in the eye. He’s among the last of his kind to survive on this planet, and soon you’ll reach the Planet Port, where you’ll head over to one with an even harsher climate. You know he would never survive there. “I best get going.”

You nod, reaching into your pockets. A warm, fur-lined scarf comes out. They’re rare, these days. Most of the galaxy uses heater cloth. You feel a twinge of sadness as you tie it around your friend’s small neck. It was given to you by your grandmother, and one of the most important things you have.

Your new friend caws happily, thanking you. He runs at the open window, and flies out, out, and away. The moment you close it, you see yourself reflected back at you.

So much has changed since you set off on your journey. You have changed. You’re older now, and calmer.

That’s when you know: you’ll be ready. You’ll be ready for whatever comes next, and you won’t back down without a fight.

Task Three:

Daily! 25/7/21

456 words!

Character belongs to @Sandy-Dunes
__

Dr. Gilbert Mason looked around in awe and wonder at the grand library standing before him. It was simply amazing; shining pillars twisted up to the wonderful domed ceiling, where a diagram of the Solar System hung. Polished wooden bookshelves adorned the walls, where books of all kinds could be found.

Neatly ordered tables and chairs littered the area, and display cases filled the library to the brim, showing off the many historical relics the library had gotten its hands on.

Dr. Mason let out a breath he hadn’t even know he was holding.

“Oh my,” was all he could say as he drifted between the shelves and glass displays.

The whole library was a maze. A well constructed maze filled with knowledge, of course, but a maze nonetheless, and it was because of this that Dr. Mason had spent at least two hours exploring it, searching for the right book.

He had gotten a little frustrated, though, so eventually the anesthesiologist simply sighed and found himself heading over to the sleek, elegant counter. He hadn’t come here looking for anything specific, but the lack of lesser known history books was rather disappointing.

“Hello, sir,” greeted the woman behind the counter, wearing a placid smile worthy of a customer service award. “What can we do for you?”

Dr. Mason shivered in the cold, winter air. “I was hoping you’d have some more… history books?” He said.

The woman rolled her eyes, which Dr. Mason took as a ‘no’. Just as he turned away, the woman behind the counter opened up a small box and gestured to the wall beside the counter.

“Alright,” she said resignedly. Plenty of others had come looking for extra, more specific books, no doubt. “Come here, sir.”

The woman took out a small torch, and stuck the bottom into a hole behind some books. A quiet, grating sound began, and built up until, inch by inch, the bookcase slid sideways, and fancy, cobblestone stairs appeared in the floor, diving down underground.

The two of them walked down in silence. Dr. Mason raked his eyes around him. Never would he have thought a secret section of the library was underground! They reached a pair of big oak doors, pushed them open, and stepped into a room grander than the main library upstairs.

“Have a good time,” grunted the woman, closing the doors. “The history books are that way.” Dr. Mason nodded, immediately rushing up the spiral stairs to the balcony-like second floor.

Grabbing as many books as he could, he walked down to a table and plunked them on. There were so many — books he’d never heard of, let alone read.

Dr. Mason took a seat. Time to get reading.

Galaxy_Awesome wrote:

Daily! 497 words
I chose to base my character off of durians! Also, please don’t take any cooking information here as part of or a recipe XD I have no idea how to actually make these
______

Spike smiled in satisfaction. There! The martabak was perfect: just the right amount of filling, and both sides fried for exactly two minutes, resulting in a nice and brown, just crispy enough texture.

Grabbing hold of the spatula, he slid it under and flipped the batch right onto the plate, humming enthusiastically.

“Tone down on that, will you?” Yelled Felicity from the living room.

Spike rolled his eyes. His younger sister could be such a killjoy sometimes. He set about the kitchen, looking for ingredients to make the next platter of snacks: kue lumpur. Aha! He reached for the carton of coconut milk, snatched it out, and poured it into the batter mixture.

“When are those snacks coming?” Felicity yelled again. “My friends are coming in an hour, and we can’t have a good sleepover without snacks!”

“Just wait!” Spike yelled back. He shook back his spiky green-yellow hair.
I should have just tied it up, he rattled at himself. It’s too late to go get it now.

Where was it? Spike ransacked the kitchen cupboards, looking into all the nooks and crannies he knew. The mold was nowhere to be seen. Glancing at the door, he sighed. Felicity!

He poked his head out, eyes fixating on his little sister, who was currently hanging up a couple of their old fairy lights. “Li-li!” He groaned. “Where did you put my cake molds?”

The girl winced. “Uhm,” she began rather sheepishly. “Under the bed. I’ll… get them for you.”

“Under the— bed?” he stared incredulously at Felicity as she scampered away. Thankfully, she ran back soon enough, a cake mold decorated with a few little bits of lint in her hand.

“Here,” she said. Her eyes widened, catching the smell of the martabak. “Woah,” breathed Felicity.

Spike grinned smugly. “Remember, you still have to wait!” He laughed. She harrumphed and stalked away, ears red.

Shaking his head, he smiled fondly and turned to the sink. No way was he going to make linty snacks. He turned on the tap and took out the dishwashing detergent.

Better get cleaning, then, he supposed.

.

“Here are your snacks, my ladies,” Spike mock-bowed, holding out the plates of food. “I also happen to have a surprise in the fridge.” Felicity’s friends dove down on them at once, eager to taste his delicious cooking (a fact to which Felicity would both agree and disagree).

A girl munched heartily on a slice of martabak. “Oh…” she melted. “This is too good, Spike.” She paused to continue her munching. “You should consider going to culinary school!”

Spike laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “You know, maybe I should.” Felicity rolled her eyes.

“I’ll go get that surprise,” he declared after several moments of Felicity staring hard at him to do it. “Trust me, it’ll be the best thing you ever tasted!”

Critique:
This is a really good piece overall, and its hard to think of ways to improve it haha. But I will try
1) I think maybe spend more time describing the scene. Remember to use the 5 senses: sight, sound, taste, touch and smell.

E.g: The martabak was now perfect. Just the right amount of filling, held inside by two thick slices sandwiching it in between. The top was the golden brown colour of the sunset, and Spike's mouth watered as she smelt it. Its texture was light and fluffy like a sponge cake, or a pancake.

2)Be careful with your punctuation. Maybe include apostrophes around thoughts so that
Just wait!” Spike yelled back. He shook back his spiky green-yellow hair.
I should have just tied it up, he rattled at himself. It’s too late to go get it now.
Becomes
Just wait!” Spike yelled back. He shook back his spiky green-yellow hair.
'I should have just tied it up,' he rattled at himself. 'It’s too late to go get it now.

3) I think that there are a few unnecessary words in here. E.g: “I’ll go get that surprise,” he declared after several moments of Felicity staring hard at him to do it. “Trust me, it’ll be the best thing you ever tasted!“
Could be
“I’ll go get that surprise,” he declared after several moments of Felicity staring hard at him. “Trust me, it’ll be the best thing you ever tasted!”

I hope this helped haha

Weekly #3!
Task One, 710 words:

Here’s to statues and who they used to be, like people. Like me.

I was a normal camper, once upon a time. I had gotten a scroll, and naturally I signed up the moment I saw the words:

‘Writing Camp of the Garden’

.

Days later, I set off to the address given, despite my worries. Frankly, I probably should have worried more.

Why would I even consider going a camp set somewhere called Gorgon’s Garden?

I met up with a friend along the way, and together, we set off towards the Garden, completely unaware of what would befall us and all the other campers.

We walked for days, and yet no sign of the Garden was found. I started to feel hopeless. Would we ever find it?

In fact, we would, because at that exact moment, we burst into a clearing. ‘Writing Camp of the Garden’ sat on a simple banner hung on the tree branches.

“Woah.” We both breathed.
.

The Garden was amazing. A distinctly sweet scent of recently baked yummies snaked through the air from the little cottage that sat in the corner.

Bright lights flashed behind my eyes, hung up between the branches. The grass was dewy and soft beneath my feet, and flora covered almost every inch of land.

A sleek white pantheon shone in the morning light, polished and new.

It was the picture of perfection.

.

The people (if we could even call them that) that greeted us were not the ones we expected.

The Gorgons. Medusa, Euryale, and Stheno.

No one would have thought that they were behind this. No one did.

.

Three days in, I discovered a curse.

We were turning to stone. At first, it had been unnoticeable. A small itch here and there, what we thought was simply gravel sticking to our legs.

But it was much, much worse.

By the third day, our feet were fully frozen and a pain to walk around with. The sounds of rock against the pantheon floor filled the air daily.

There was nothing we could do.

.

I was terrified. The stone had reached my knees. Some other campers already had stone thighs; others still only had stone feet.

The three Gorgons simply giggled and slithered away whenever we asked about the curse.

“Go on,” they hissed with their forked tongues. “Go on and write.”

Little did we know that that was a piece of advice.

.

Only when the stone reached our hips did we realise there was a way of halting the stone creeping up our bodies.

I could barely move at that point, confined and stuck to my writing area in the pantheon.

That was the moment we found out. Someone had reached their word goal, and all of a sudden, the stone stopped spreading up their body.

A whole day passed and the stone hadn’t grown an inch beyond their waist. We were elated, and quickly scrambled to write as much as we could.

The Gorgons smiled knowingly.

It was still impossible to stop from turning.

.

The word goals lost their purpose after that. We’d all surpassed them, and no matter how much we wrote, no matter how many times we increased our goal, the stone wouldn’t even halt.

I began to struggle to breathe.

My lungs were turning to stone and at last my it reached my shoulders. The only thing I could do now was write.

So I wrote. I wrote for days without stopping, only letting lose a few tears everytime another camper tot fully stoned and turned into a motionless statue. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Do not fight it,” whispered the Gorgons in my ear. I was the last one left. “Do not fight it.” They whispered again.

I still fought.

.

The end of camp was nearing. I hoped against hope that I would be able to escape by then.

My neck was stone now. I could barely stay conscious as it spread slowly to my elbows, and then my wrists, and finally my arms.

My pencil tip cracked from the pressure as I wrote my last sentence.

’Here’s to statues and who they used to be’ I wrote. ’Like the campers. Like me.’

The Gorgons laughed.

-

Task Two, 924 words:
(The characters are from franchises my friends picked for me! Eli Pepperjack is from Tales of Arcadia, and Wesley Weston is from Danny Phantom)


’Where is he?’ Wes slouched against the wall, arms crossed and patience waning rapidly. He could be doing something important right now, for goodness sake! ’Alright, Pepperjack. You get five more minutes; else I’m going in myself.’ he grumbled.

“Wes!” Shouted a younger teen, panting as he keeled over in front of him. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Krel had this thing he needed help with, and Steve got detention, and- and—“

Wes rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.” Eli sagged in relief as the taller boy pushed open the doors to the movie theatre.

“Woah.” Breathed Eli. The heavenly smell of popcorn seeped into his nose, the bright lights of black-walled area forcing his eyes to adjust. “I’ll go buy the popcorn!” He grinned.

.

Eli handed over the money to the cashier, lost in his thoughts while he waited for her to fill the giant popcorn bucket.

It had been a while since he was able to go and watch a movie here, he realised. He’d gotten so distracted with Trolls, and Akaridions, and Area 49-B, that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be a normal kid.

Eli also knew that Wes, too, should have some time to relax. Wes had spent days pulling all nighters, reading countless ectology books, and mostly surviving on coffee. But even though they were supposed to be relaxing, he still seemed as frustrated, suspicious, and grumpy with the world as asual.

He sighed. “Thanks!” He said cheerfully to the cashier, mood brightetning as soon as he got a whiff of the popcorn bucket in his hand.

.

“So,” Wes began, handing Eli his ticket. Their movie was in an hour — plenty of time to go and do something else to while away their time. “What movie are we seeing, Pepperjack?”

He grinned excitedly, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Gun Robot 3!” A short pause came, and he bit his lip. “Steve says he doesn’t like it, though.”

Wes ran his mind through a mental folder of Eli’s other friends. ’Right. Steve Palchuk.’ he concluded. Steve reminded him of Dash, except not quite as aggressive.

“Do you have any leads on Casperan?” He asked, finally.

Eli’s faced pinched. “Wes, we talked about this.”

He sighed, relenting. Eli dragged him out of the theatre and into the mall, studying it from top to bottom.

There weren’t many shops or stalls; this place had started going on a steep decline in interest rates once the newer, bigger, and facier mall a few blocks away had opened, but many people still considered its movie theatre the best in town.

Wes squinted at a shop on the other side of the area. Was that a sports shop? He did need a new basketball… curse Kyle for ‘accidentally’ destroying his current one.

“Hey.” He said. “Let’s go over there.”

’What?’ Eli opened his mouth to talk, but Wes was already striding towards the sports shop.

.

’Why are his legs so long?’ lamented Eli, struggling to catch up with Wes as he threaded through the few stalls and leftover Halloween decorations barring their way.
“Where are you going?” He called out, apologising hastily as he bumped into another shopper.

Wes ignored him.

“Huh?“ began Eli, looking up at the big black words marked on the storefront.

Mr. Aller’s Sports Equipment, he read. The light in his brain flicked on, and he looked back and forth between the store and Wes, in his usual turtleneck and basketball jersey. “Oh!”

.

“Our movie’s in fifteen minutes!” Wes gave a nod to show that he’d heard, but kept testing out the dozens of balls on the shelves. They weren’t expensive, but they weren’t low quality, either. “We’ve got to go, Wes!” Eli burst into the shop, a bag filled with rope and red string hanging from one arm.

Sighing, he grabbed the best ball he’d tested so far and headed to the person standing in the cashier booth: a blond man in his twenties. After the quick exchange, Eli took the bag with the ball in it and pulled him away and to the theatre.

“Ten minutes left!” Eli shouted. The two conspiracy theorists dashed between the stalls and other shoppers.

They had to be there at least five minutes before the movie started, if Wes was right. ’That means we have five minutes to get in,’ he reminded himself.

.

The security guard raised an eyebrow at them as they rushed towards their theatre room.

Eli didn’t stop running, too busy freaking out to notice his surroundings, but Wes skidded to a halt. There, entering another theatre room, was a familiar mess of black hair, wearing the same shirt as asual and the same lackeys chatting with him.

Wes’s eyes narrowed. Where was his camera when he needed it? “Fenton.” He muttered with much more animosity than Eli could muster.

“Wes?” Finally having noticed his companion was gone, Eli poked his head around the door. He caught sight of him, glaring silently at a rapidly disappearing trio. Shaking his head disapprovingly, Eli pulled him into the theatre room, giving him an unimpressed stare.

Wes spluttered indignantly. “I- What- You- But Fenton—“ Eli held his ground, and Wes frowned, but turned and raced to their seats, grumbling.

Eli sat down beside him, and as the movie began playing, Wes admitted that it was nice to take a break, sometimes. Sensing his growing comfort, Eli smiled mischeviously in triumph, and mentally pat his own back.

’Mission Make Wes Take A Break Is A Success!’ he cheered.

-

Task Three, 1133 words:
(For this, I chose to combine two of my childhood book series, Children Of The Red King, and Harry Potter! It’s set roughly mid-the Hidden King for COTRK and during the start of Goblet of Fire for HP)


“Alright, you lot,” said Manfred, grimly. “I have bad news. No, not our usual kind, so sit down, Charlie Bone.” He fixed Charlie’s gaze with his own coal eyes.

“The Ministry of Magic has decided that we’ve broken the Statue of Secrecy. Multiple times. Which means, we’ll have to have a meeting with the Minister, and my father will be put on trial, and so will we, by extent.”

Lysander Sage frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense, Man- sir,” he said. “We’re held separate from the Statue, aren’t we?”

The rest of the King’s Room nodded. That was true. Years ago, all descendants of the Red King had been announced legally separate from the wizarding kind.

Manfred glared at him for speaking out of turn. “Yes, we are. But according to those pompous twits, our breaking of wizarding law is too serious, and risks exposing them.”

One of the Branko twins opened her mouth, but Manfred shot her a look. Her face remained impassive, though she quickly shut her mouth.

“So,” he continued exasperatedly. “I want seven of you all to be here tomorrow morning at 7 o’clock, sharp. One of the wizarding schools agreed to house us and take over your education while we sort everything out. Clear?”

“Clear, sir.” Chorused the endowed children. Homework over, they rushed out of the King’s Room, buzzing amongst themselves.

.

At precisely 7:00 in the morning, Charlie pushed open the doors to the King’s Room. Only five others sat at the round table — two missing. With a yawn, Charlie plonked into his usual seat.

“Hello, Charlie,” came a voice from his left. Charlie was too sleepy to identify who.
“Hi.” He mumbled, eyes drooping. Vaguely, as if it was from miles away and underwater, he registered someone else come in. It wasn’t Manfred, so he was very glad to be able to catch a few extra minutes of sleep.

—Bam! The door swung open with unnecessary force.

Charlie moaned, shaking himself awake. Speak of the devil. Manfred stood in the doorway, looking rather sleep-deprived. Asa Pike snickered at his shoulder.

“Good.” He said. “There’s seven of you. Let’s go.”

.

All nine of them piled into King’s Cross Station and out of the large black limo.
Emma Tolly coughed, holding tightly onto her suitcase and trying to stay as close as she could to Charlie.

“Off you go,” said Dr. Bloor, the headmaster and Manfred’s father. “Manfred, make sure nothing gets out of control.”

Manfred nodded, and ushered them towards what looked like a wall, despite their protests. Somehow, they stepped through it, and onto Platform 9¾.

.

“Good morning,” said a strict-faced woman in robes. “My name is Professor McGonagall. You may come with me.” She swept the endowed away, and up to the first floor of a tower.

Charlie felt rather dizzy; the whole day was a blur, from the secret Platform, to the magic castle, and now up a tower with this woman called McGonagall.

“Here we are,” she declared, opening the door to what must be her office. An old, tattered hat sat on the single desk. “As you know, none of the houses are currently.
equipped to take in all of you. So the Sorting Hat will temporarily sort you into houses to stay with.”

McGonagall brought over a three-legged stool, and raised the Hat far above Charlie and Emma’s heads. “I trust Mr. Bloor has taught you about our houses?”

Charlie nodded. It seemed simple enough: four houses, four core values.
“Yes, Professor,” squeaked Billy Raven.

McGonagall nodded. “Bone, Charlie,” she called out. At first, he simply stood still, blinking in confusion. Then Asa snickered again, and Charlie came to a realisation.

’Oh.’ Charlie felt Manfred’s eyes on his back. Slowly, he stepped up and sat on the stool. McGonagall put the Hat on him, engulfing his eyes in darkness. Charlie felt something in it — a consciousness perhaps? All he knew was that the Hat almost had a mind of its own.

Several minutes passed. What was supposed to happen? Suddenly, the Hat seemed to smile.

“Slytherin!” It shouted, making Charlie jump.

.

Charlie rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. After the Sorting, he remembered being whisked around the school on a tour, and getting a briefing of the classes he was supposed to take. Now, he stood at the entrance of the Great Hall.

“Wear your capes tomorrow,” Manfred instructed. “You have private homework and lessons with me at 8 o’clock.”

“Yes, sir” said Charlie as Manfred walked off. He yawned. “Good night, Em. Good luck with the Brankos.” He mumbled.

“Bye, Charlie Bone.” Emma waved and followed Idith (or was it Inez? You could never tell with the Branko twins) to the moving staircases.

.

Charlie woke up with some level of confusion. He’d gotten so used to the blue drapes of the Music department at Bloor’s Academy that all the green surrounding him seemed… off, somehow.

He yawned with all his morning breath, and looked around. ’This place could really use some light,’ he thought to himself.

Charlie checked his watch.

’Oh, no.’ he froze. ’I’m going to be late.’

.

“Where were you, Charlie Bone?” Manfred asked suspiciously as Charlie stumbled into the room. “We’re making our entrance soon.”

“I was dressing myself, sir,” Charlie turned red, and scampered off to stand next ro Emma and Lysander.

“‘Morning, Charlie.” Said Emma. Lysander smiled at him. Charlie only nodded nervously, casting glances back at Manfred.

“Look, Charlie Bone!” Billy Raven whispered, peeking through a gap between the door and the wall.

There, outside the room, hundreds of Hogwarts students dined and chattered. A hush fell over them as a group of people in blue began mixing in, and others (in fur, this time) began doing so too.

Someone tapped a glass with a light tinkling sound, and yelled for silence. Charlie’s ears strained to catch their voice. Was the room soundproof? But no, Charlie reasoned. It couldn’t be, if he had heard the sound of a glass being tapped.

At last, something made it through. “And now we welcome,” said a grandiose voice, “The students of Bloor’s Academy!”

Manfred opened the door, and they filed out.

.

Hushed whispers spread through the Great Hall.

“Muggles?” Ron glanced at Hermione.
She shook her head. “They don’t seem so,”

One of the peculiar Bloor’s Academy students headed towards the empty seat in front of the trio. His pure white hair shone in the light and his eerie wine-coloured eyes peeked out from behind large glasses. A blue cape much too large for him cloaked his small body.

“Hello,” said the boy quietly. He smiled anxiously. “I’m Billy Raven.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks.

“Hi.” Said Harry.

(TW: Fire)

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The man’s light footsteps stalk towards the little boy. A flaming cigarette slips out of his hand and he smiles with creaky white teeth, menacing eyes fixated on the person in front of him.

But the little boy can only watch as the cigarette’s flames catch on something under his bed. His eyes widen and he backs away faster, scuttling up to the locked door.

He watches as the flickering fire creeps onto the others and as the man comes closer and closer. The little boy turns his back and crouches, breathing heavily as he anticipates what comes next.

A bright flash of light is the only warning either of them get before all the firecrackers and flammables come to life.

.

Loud. Loud, loud, loud, TOO LOUD. The sheer volume of the explosions is the only thing on the little boy’s mind. His eyes are jammed shut and his hands cover his ears, and somehow, the loudness only gets louder, and when he opens his eyes, the blinding lights scorch his eyes.

He curls in on himself tighter, and tighter, and tighter and as the biggest explosion yet arrives, he collapses.

.

The little boy’s eyes flutter open to a sleek white hospital room. For a moment he forgets what happened, though it soon rushes back to him, leaving him to sit numbly and wait as his eyes readjust to the sudden glare of the lights ahead.

The nurse in front of the bed is saying something, but the little boy doesn’t know what. He sees her lips moving and he hears the buzz of her voice, but nothing registers. The little boy opens his own mouth, and forces words out and the nurse replies, but he can’t hear anything — he can’t hear her, or himself, or the other nurse who’d just come in.

He can’t hear anything.

Why can’t he hear anything? What’s going on, why can’t he hear anything, why doesn’t anything register? Where’s the nice tall woman who helps him at the orphanage, she would be able to help, right? Where is everybody? Why can’t he hear?

The little boy backs up against the wall, eyes jammed shut again, as tears stream down his soot covered face and he cries and cries and cries.

.

Soon the nurses go, and the nice tall woman comes in and she smiles and that smile makes him want to melt and smile too but he can’t because he still can’t hear anything and what if he’ll never be able to hear anything again?

She hands the little boy a pencil and a small book that he thinks is called a note-pad but he’s really not sure. He takes it and squints at the writing on it and his lips tremble when he successfully reads it.

The nice tall woman gestures to the pencil, so he grips it in small, unsteady, hands too young to be tarnished with trauma and begins to write the letters he’d learned some time ago.

Hello, said the writing. Can you hear me?

The woman moves her mouth and talks and talks and talks, but this time the little boy manages to keep the tears in.

He shakes his head, sniffing.

No.

(Unfinished)

__
Calle climbed up to the shambling roof of his house. It was a rare moment – a time for relaxation amongst the starry speckled sky. He wouldn’t trade these moments for anything in the world.

“Hello.” said someone to his right. Calle turned his back to the galaxy, and smiled calmly as he caught sight of his new friend ascending the ramshackle ladder to the roof. He said nothing.

“There will be star rain in an hour.” they murmured. Now that’s interesting.

“Really?” Calle asked, searching the streets below for Guardians. They couldn’t be caught up here at this time, especially here, in Choa City. A High-Ranker and a Commonbody, sitting together on a rooftop, stargazing and being friends?

No matter how much his and Juno’s friendship was worth to the both of them, neither wanted to end up in jail.

“Yes, Calle.” they deadpanned. Calle nodded, satisfied. He tapped Juno’s shoulder.

“What?” they asked, posture stiff and as unyielding as the board-hard, unspoken rules the City had in place. He handed them a small packet of food – little Cordial Bars, possibly one of the only ones still in the City. They’d been outlawed years ago, courtesy of being used for a protest.

The flowers fall, one by one.

The first to fall is the hyssop. Scarlett turns, then watches, observes just as she’s always done her entire life. She steps forward, and her sacrifice is not in vain.

There’s no burial for her; only an empty box of letters and remembrances and the first chip that cracks away from their wall of bonds.

The hyacinth falls next, his gaze for once unwavering, resigned to his fate. C. Birrings faces the woman in front of him with defiance in his eyes and guilt in his heart, and knows the end of their story is drawing near.

His cell is opened too late, and they carry him away, broken and unbreathing, a memorial of events long past.

The cyclamen succumbs willingly. Her heart yearns for someone too far out of reach, separated by the manipulation of others. Without him or the others, she decays, and wishes for all it’s worth for it all to be over.

Tsuyo breathes her last goodbye, sings her last song, and whispers their names for the last time, her wish granted. The asylum never learns its mistake.

The begonia has been gone for a long time. She never was one of them, but her legacy lives on in the quiet depths of the one who can mimic her in every way. Dyna paved the broken bridge some of them walk on, and despite that nothing of her remains.

No one mourns her, and no one knows her. Her parents don’t know she’s gone.

The elderflower dies a soft death. Alyssa sobs in her palace built on grief, and cries for her family, for her friends, for her childhood and for all of them, the things she has no longer.

Her cries soon subside, the same for her life, and she leaves a brother, lost and with no one left.

The others pass on quietly. The snowdrop and the sweetbrier live together, laugh together, and, as the two siblings smile, a worn hand on each of their shoulders, they close their eyes, together unto death.

Rin and Kai are legends now, first told from the lips of the ones still thriving, still living.
The gladiolus breathes in deep, feels the wounds they healed together. Gazes across at the eyes of the new world he helped build, the new generation to keep all their tales and stories so history shall not repeat itself.

Harue, who is and has always been more than what he seems, lets his mind drift away, and is finally at peace.

The zinnia, the last to fall. Krystal’s heart breaks, her eyesight blurs, and her tears slide down her face. She grieves, and their lives of tragedy flash through her mind, her memories still tipped with a little happiness. She falls back onto the grassy fields she stands on.

Krystal slips away, and the last of the ring of flowers droop. Centuries later, new ones grow in their place, covering the only traces of their strange story, and the lives they led and the people they became.

The hyssop’s box fills with weeds, the hyacinth’s cell is overgrown, and the cyclamen’s broken collar lies miles underground, buried deep within the earth. They’re long gone now, like the begonia and her existence, the elderflower and her soft sobs, and the snowdrop and the sweetbrier and the gladiolus, with their children and their children’s children.

The zinnia too, with her knowledge of all that had happened.

At last, the fairy ring fades away, and so does their warning tale.

Beginning of November 2021 session!! (marker)

Survivalist Journal Entries: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
In-Cabin Challenges: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
Main Cabin Dailies: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
Weeklies: 1 2 3 4
Other Writing: 1 2 3
Cabin Wars: 1 2
✮ Thank You Note ✮
Character Notes

First In-Cabin challenge of November 2021! 563 words, the prompt was “Untangling yourself from the vines , you find the map that leads to your ultimate destination. The Lost” by @Ilishaqueen. 563 words!

Calle untangles himself from the vines, letting out an “oomph!” As he falls to the floor.
“Look at this,” calls Juno, examining the area underneath the thickest vine. “There’s a trapdoor under, but I can’t open it by myself,”
Eyebrows raised, Calle crawls over and pushes at the heavy vine covering it. It doesn’t budge.

Catching sight of Calle’s signal for help moving it, Juno shuffles over. Together, they shove the dark green vine out of the way, revealing a plain old wooden trapdoor underneath.

“Oh my,” breathes Juno, fingers trembling as they open it. They swat away the cobwebs blocking the view into the area below.

Calle laughs softly between dust-induced sneezes. Months ago, he never would have thought he’d see Juno, the snobby High-Ranker from the Steel Towers, willingly touch spiderwebs, let alone with bare fingers and within sight of him, a Commonbody.

But then again, it was just proof of how far the both of them really had gone, from cautious allies, to partners in “crime”, to maybe even friends.

Juno puts a careful foot on the ladder leading below. “Come on,” they whisper tensely. Calle nods and scrambles over and down into the damp depths.

The room they emerge in is small — minuscule, even. Jars of what looked like poisonous soap bars litter the floor. Grimacing, Juno steps down, nearly stepping on one in the process. They scan the room, and… there! Something glints at the far side of the room, and stepping forward, Calle finally sees what it is.

There, in a gold frame mounted on the wall and right above another trapdoor, was the answer to all of Calle and Juno’s problems. The map to The Lost.

Eyes wide as saucers and the dust bitter on his tongue, Calle darts over, grabs the map, and freezes. In all his wonder and disbelief, he’d forgotten to be careful. As a result, several jars turned over, crashing open with a deafening noise.

The soap bars bubble and froth, disintegrating wood, metal, and glass. A bubbling chasm into nothingness forms on the floor, too far to jump across but not big enough to take up space for Calle to stand. Juno, meanwhile, steps back onto the ladder, the chasm just nearly reaching them.

Calle tentatively puts a foot over the slowing but growing chasm. He stops at the look Juno gives him.
“Don’t,” they say. ‘You won’t make it. Just- just hand the map to me, and try to escape through the trapdoor behind you,”

Breaths now even, he nods.
“Okay,” says Calle. He stretches out the map, his arms just long enough for Juno to be able to grab onto the map.

The chasm grows wider.

Juno clutches onto it like a lifeline, about to pull the thing towards them, when the crawling, frothing gap reaches Calle’s feet. They gasp as Calle screams, tumbling down into the deep, deep darkness, bringing with him half of the ripped map.

Hands shaking, they manage to pull themself out of the room, close trapdoor, push the big vine over it, and run out of the ruins. A sob hitches Juno’s throat. They grip their half of the ripped map tightly, reassuring but empty whispers streaming from their mouth.

“Well,” they manage to say to themself, wiping their eyes. “I… guess my plans’ve changed. I really need to find Calle, and soon.”

Survivalist Journal Entry 1! Prompt: “Survivalists!! I hope you enjoyed sleeping in, because tomorrow we're waking up before the sun does! Currently, I don't have any plans to overwork anyone, so we'll just be taking a nice hike up to that clearing. Just three miles today. Oh, and we will be crossing a river. And rain is expected. But we should be making camp well before sunset. Alright, pick someone to buddy up with, and let's be off!”
Character: Eon
Can't submit because I'm late XD

it's the first day of searching for the treasure at the top of the mountain with the other survivalists, and I'm honestly surprised. everyone here's so YOUNG? there's even a couple of 10 year olds!

we've just set up camp, and I can tell some of the others are ready to collapse. I'm soaking wet too. plus, the rain was so hard. a little too hard, especially for the first day. my goat's shivering, but none of our matches will work in this downpour. the hike wasn't fun at all, considering the weather. it was miserable, wet, slow, and a lot of words I'd be dead for saying if any of the 10 year olds caught me saying them.

I'm pretty sure I have burn marks from where the rain hit me the most. yes, it was that strong.

oh wait, hang on, I need to go. someone's asking for help with their shelter. be back later, I suppose.

Survivalist Journal Entry 2!
Prompt: “Attention! There have been sightings of these err… strange people. They're called the Intensities. Just be weary - we're not quite sure of their intentions yet. Anyway, we're making our way to that cliff *points* so hopefully you're not sore. We'll probably separate into groups to move faster. Anyway, let's go!”
Words: 396

okay, okay, it's been a long day today. I'm tired and sore and blistered. ants here are so big! and horrifying. my goat was practically shaking in its fur! no guesses to what the ants did. yes, they bit me. on my hands. hard. it made it harder for me to climb up to the cliff we're on now and while I appreciate the challenge it was definitely unnecessary and made my hands sting like they were on fire. plus it attracted the giant centipedes and I did NOT need to see them that big and up close. my hands slowed me down considerably so I had to stay at the back of the group which meant I barely got to speed up the cliff and enjoy it like I was planning to.

other than that there were these people (I think they were people. but now that I think about it I'm not very sure. they were humanoid, at least) a couple of us spotted when we went up. so far the only info ANYONE has gotten is that they're called the Intensities. Strange name for a group of stalkers but they seem pretty good at adventuring so they have my respect.

speaking of respect, I don't think my goat has any for me because he just peed on the campfire again, embarrassing me. oh and he seems to be trying to impress one of the other goats. I might go over there and help him soon. he's failing spectacularly. I'm pretty sure the other goat just kicked his behind, haha. poor guy.

wait, hang on. I think I just saw someone sneaking around our camp. it's already very late at night though. everyone should be asleep. maybe I'll go check?

their footsteps are so quiet I can barely hear them. I can't make out any talking either. who is it?

hmm… it's…. one of the Intensities? well, that's surprising. what are they doing sneaking around here? surely they have their own camp somewhere. eh, maybe they just came over to say hi to us, but went when they realised everyone was all conked out. hm, I think I'm getting sleepy. I should probably just get to bed. definitely going to have a long day tomorrow. I'll tell Rella about the Intensity I saw later, my eyes are way too droopy.

good night for now.