daily

A castle that seemed as old as the world itself rose from the hills, made of black stone and painted red on the rooftops. Towers pointed out of the ground like arrows, surrounding a huge cylindrical centre. The magnificent castle was backed by mountains, and houses painted in vibrant colours lay before it like a carpet. Stone arrows poked up haphazardly throughout the kingdom, all the way to the wall at the edge. I was on wall duty. The place was cracked and uneven, cobwebs curled up in the arrow holes, some broken parts never rebuilt. I was almost surprised they had kept the old thing. We hadn't had war for two hundred years. Why would we have one now?

“Just ten years ago, there was a whole kingdom here.”
I chuckled. “Hard to believe, eh?”
We'd learnt about Linsar at school, so as natural adventurers, we'd decided to come to the site itself. And we'd found it. Literally nothing.
Sure, there were beautiful plains leading to the left and mountains to the right that reached for the sun. The scene was worthy of painting. But the place was a two-day horse ride from anywhere. We'd found it. But there wasn't a lot of ‘it’ to find.
“Come on, Ben. Surely there's at least some ruins at the castle,” Jordan said.
“Good thinking.”
So we got our horses to gallop over the picture-perfect plains and rolling hills, all the way to the castle that would have been nestled against the mountains. And we found nothing. There was nothing left, just the pristine, supposedly untouched rock with a secret history nobody would bother to find.

They'd come all this blasted way for nothing.
It was a nice place alright. Just leave out all the bars and red rope and he might've actually liked it. The tour folks had said there were blasted ruins of that stupid place called Linsar. No. It was all rock and soil and perfectly untouched fields. They'd come all this way for fields.
Was that really what the world was coming to, to set up a blasted historical site that didn't exist? John would have his money back. Oh yes. He'd see to that, alright. The place was useless but to make money. Was there even a blasted kingdom here at all? And the crowds were so thick he couldn't even tell. What a useless, useless place.

“Eureka!”
Seriously.
This place isn't destined to be a ‘homeless people/migrants get rich’ program. Does anyone even remember the kingdom that was here thirty years ago? It was great. Just didn't have the bones for war. But what a great place for a kingdom! Turning it into a gold site was a waste of valuable space. Turning it into whatever it's been for thirty years was a waste of valuable space. Nothing for the history books. But if I can get a team together…
I ride out into the hills, into the sound of hammers and pickaxes and endless shouts of “Eureka”. I go out further, to the plains and air that doesn't stink of sweat. To the big picture. And I can put the wall exactly where it was before, the houses, the castle right on top of those stupid gold miners. It would work, that's for sure. I just need the right plan.

“A kingdom will stand between the mountains and the plains, greater than the last. The castle will stand tall in our colours: glorious green and red. It will amaze our allies and frighten our enemies, so huge it will be. The houses will be decorated in joyous colours, just as the last was; as for the wall, it will be kept in pristine condition. We will not make the mistakes of our past. That is why I read history, after all: to ensure a brighter future for all of us.”
And here it stands.


…And here it stood.

daily

A castle that seemed as old as the world itself rose from the hills, made of black stone and painted red on the rooftops. Towers pointed out of the ground like arrows, surrounding a huge cylindrical centre. The magnificent castle was backed by mountains, and houses painted in vibrant colours lay before it like a carpet. Stone arrows poked up haphazardly throughout the kingdom, all the way to the wall at the edge. I was on wall duty. The place was cracked and uneven, cobwebs curled up in the arrow holes, some broken parts never rebuilt. I was almost surprised they had kept the old thing. We hadn't had war for two hundred years. Why would we have one now?

“Just ten years ago, there was a whole kingdom here.”
I chuckled. “Hard to believe, eh?”
We'd learnt about Linsar at school, so as natural adventurers, we'd decided to come to the site itself. And we'd found it. Literally nothing.
Sure, there were beautiful plains leading to the left and mountains to the right that reached for the sun. The scene was worthy of painting. But the place was a two-day horse ride from anywhere. We'd found it. But there wasn't a lot of ‘it’ to find.
“Come on, Ben. Surely there's at least some ruins at the castle,” Jordan said.
“Good thinking.”
So we got our horses to gallop over the picture-perfect plains and rolling hills, all the way to the castle that would have been nestled against the mountains. And we found nothing. There was nothing left, just the pristine, supposedly untouched rock with a secret history nobody would bother to find.

They'd come all this blasted way for nothing.
It was a nice place alright. Just leave out all the bars and red rope and he might've actually liked it. The tour folks had said there were blasted ruins of that stupid place called Linsar. No. It was all rock and soil and perfectly untouched fields. They'd come all this way for fields.
Was that really what the world was coming to, to set up a blasted historical site that didn't exist? John would have his money back. Oh yes. He'd see to that, alright. The place was useless but to make money. Was there even a blasted kingdom here at all? And the crowds were so thick he couldn't even tell. What a useless, useless place.

“Eureka!”
Seriously.
This place isn't destined to be a ‘homeless people/migrants get rich’ program. Does anyone even remember the kingdom that was here thirty years ago? It was great. Just didn't have the bones for war. But what a great place for a kingdom! Turning it into a gold site was a waste of valuable space. Turning it into whatever it's been for thirty years was a waste of valuable space. Nothing for the history books. But if I can get a team together…
I ride out into the hills, into the sound of hammers and pickaxes and endless shouts of “Eureka”. I go out further, to the plains and air that doesn't stink of sweat. To the big picture. And I can put the wall exactly where it was before, the houses, the castle right on top of those stupid gold miners. It would work, that's for sure. I just need the right plan.

“A kingdom will stand between the mountains and the plains, greater than the last. The castle will stand tall in our colours: glorious green and red. It will amaze our allies and frighten our enemies, so huge it will be. The houses will be decorated in joyous colours, just as the last was; as for the wall, it will be kept in pristine condition. We will not make the mistakes of our past. That is why I read history, after all: to ensure a brighter future for all of us.”
And here it stands.


…And here it stood.

Daily 7/3 || 507 words

A unified kingdom, where dragons of all kinds roamed. It was named the Kingdom of Scales to represent the common trait of all its residents, and is a very peaceful and well-renowned location, where all dragons aspired to be, regardless of if they were one of the core breeds of dragons or not. Hybrids are common, even in the royal family, and the architecture was varied and colorful. The Kingdom of Scales is a utopia, where families could stay together and any dragon can be whatever they’d like, without fear of judgement or restrictions. It’s surprising how ideal this place is, despite the fact that less than half a century prior purebred dragons were in their own separate clans. All it took was a few dragons with common ideals to come together…

…And a few dragons with common ideals was all it took for the Kingdom of Scales to fall. A decade later, war erupts, the older dragons not wanting to let their clan traditions fall away into the mixed society. Not all dragon breeds mixed, and even the younger ones didn’t like the thought of non-core breeds mingling within. It’s impossible to tell what sides there are now. Some say that the war is between purebreds and hybrids, others says it’s between core breeds and outsiders, and even others claim that it’s between each and every species entirely. The Kingdom of Scales crumbles under the severe disorder, the massive territory it has claimed cracking into pieces.

Peace has been restored, but not in the way the founders of the Kingdom of Scales wanted it. The Scaled Territories have been created, split into five kingdoms: those of the Mundane, the Bonfire, the Cove, the Soiled, and the Shiver, each containing only dragons of those breeds. Outsiders were kicked out, and the violence of the war from almost all purebreds led to hybrids being severely diminished. The only exceptions were to Mundane hybrids, as Mundane dragons had never made a clan of their own and all breeds were used to coexisting and having hybrids of the generally lacking species. The Mundane Kingdom itself is filled with hybrids and even a few outsiders, although the kingdom is frowned upon by the other four. They may coexist, but they are no longer unified, and tensions are common. The old royal family was torn apart, no longer having influence over the new kingdoms.

It’s surprising how much destruction two dragons can create. The Cove Kingdom declared war on the Bonfire Kingdom after their heiress disappeared with who they thought was a Bonfire dragon, and tensions have risen once again. With the Soiled Kingdom taking the side of Cove and the Shiver Kingdom taking Bonfire’s side, leaving the Mundane Kingdom on the sidelines again, it seems as if more chaos will ensue in the Scaled Territories, barely ten years after peace had been restored. Little do they know that this whole ordeal stems from the rules the kingdoms have created to prevent more hybrids and limit interactions between entire breeds of dragons…

daily 3
word count - 648

Although they had been called many names over the years, the caves’ first king famously would refer to them as pits of fire and glory; for in fire and glory had the underground kingdom emerged, springing from the ashes of an old, tyrannical empire that had mercilessly exploited the caves’ residents, growing ever richer off of the wealth of the pits as they let the lives of their inhabitants fall further and further into disrepair. But now, after so many centuries of oppression, those angry miners were finally in control of their own destinies, and were ready to shape a kingdom of their own–one that they hoped, in decades to come, would grow to rival even their strongest former persecutors.

A decade passed, and the new kingdom, having survived its birth of fire and glory, began to grow. Its citizens quickly learned to take advantage of the caves’ abundant resources–which they had previously been forced to give up to their masters–and used them to quickly form trade alliances with their neighboring nations. In the tenth year of the kingdom’s life, a castle was erected in the center of the largest cavern–small but proud, a reflection of the kingdom itself. In those years, throughout all the hardship of being a newborn nation, the noble little kingdom kept its head high, determined to come into its own and seize its place amongst the giants of the world.

Ten more years went by, and things seemed to be going exactly the way that first group of angry, oppressed miners had dreamed. The subterranean nation, in only twenty years, had grown to unimaginable size, accumulating new lands and riches in the blink of an eye. If they found that there was no place for them among any other nations, they would make one for themselves with force, leaving everyone else to either kneel or hope they did not fall into the path of destruction. The people of the caves knew that this was no longer a rebellion or a war to gain freedom, and they knew that they had proved themselves to their old masters long ago. At this point in the kingdom’s life, it was simply a war to show just how powerful they could become. They would topple their former oppressors, strip away their pride and power, and make them be the oppressed–make them see what it was like to work for hours in a dark cave, extracting riches that they would never be able to use. Only then, when they had made the whole world burn just as they once had, would they be satiated.

Some say that the kingdom’s downfall was inevitable. Others say that perhaps, it all started when they seemed to lose their sense of pride–when they moved out of the caves of fire and glory in which the kingdom had been birthed. A war with any reason, even a cruel one, is better than one fought simply for the sake of war–and perhaps, in abandoning their homeland, the former lords of the caves had forgotten what this war had even been fought for. Now, they were oppressing simply because it was the only thing they knew how to do, and wanted power because they could not imagine a life without it.
The kingdom fell the exact same way it had been born thirty years prior: in fire and glory. A workers’ rebellion originating in the caves–from those very same pits of fire and glory–swept through the empire like a wildfire, toppling seemingly eternal thrones in the span of days.

Perhaps, in the thirty years to come, this new nation–originating from a group of angry miners so very similar to their oppressors thirty years before–will fare better than their predecessors. Or perhaps, like countless others before, they will fall into that very same vicious cycle, until they fall, ultimately, in a blaze of fire and glory.

Sometimes, the origin of empires can be traced back to a single event. One change, small at the time, may end up impacting the distant future in unpredictable ways. Unbeknownst to the whole world, this was one of those times. A small mammal, whose kind had dwelled in the trees for seasons beyond counting, had slightly different paws. This made it a bit harder to cling to the branches, and it fell from the canopy over and over. Still, the mammal learned to adapt, and with few predators to be heard of (most had gone extinct some years back), it survived well depsite the hindrance. In fact, with the lack of predators leading to an overpopulation of the mammals, this specific little animal set off in search of new territory.
The mammal reproduced, passing its odd paws to its offspring.
These paws, better suited to ground travel, allowed them to reach new territory that their ancestors could not. They continued to pass on the trait.
They became geographically distanced from the others, preventing interbreeding with other bloodlines.
As the years passed, this bloodline began to diverge from its ancestors’.
Further and further divided.
First, in ways barely noticeable.
Then, slightly more- an alteration of a trait, a new behavior.
New habits.
New features.
Better adaptations.
One DNA mutation at a time.
Season by season.
Year by year.
Time drew them apart, in both body and mind.
Evolution works slowly, but consistently. Generations went by, and none of the original mammal’s descendents remembered where they came from.
But this did not matter.
Bit by bit, separated in distance and genetics alike, they became their own species.
They developed thicker fur, better suited to the colder environments they now found themselves in.
They retained clawed fingers, a reminder of the tree-dwellers of the past. But instead of using their claws to grasp branches, they used them to dig in the dirt and race across rocky plains.
Their bodies became bigger than their ancestors’. There was no more need to be lightweight. The extra strength helped them travel even further, stay even warmer when the snows fell.
Of course, larger bodies meant they needed to eat more food to sustain themselves.
A new behavioral pattern began to form. In the past, they had been mostly solitary. But now, with the need to eat more, they sometimes hunted in packs.
They were not yet truly social animals.
It would take many more generations before that could develop.
Many, many more.
But nature is patient.
And these mammals were fast to learn and fast to adapt, mutating quickly, far faster than other types of animals.
They became dominant in their ecosystem. There was some competition, but none that could quite keep up in the evolutionary arms race. They competed with each other most of all, and this only served to progress their evolution faster.
It was the age of mammals now.
And these were the rulers of the new kingdom.
They were not the only ones changing, though. There were other types of mammals in their world. Some could be dangerous. Some could be eaten. And there were those that competed for food and territory.
One species among this latter group, the rivals, might have seemed vaguely familiar to the new species, if they thought too hard about it. They were smaller, with flatter faces and longer tails, but their scent was not all that foreign, and their pawprints revealed similar pad shapes.
These were not the same as the tree-dwellers of the past.
But, maybe, they were descended from the same ancestors?
They had social behaviors, too, but not the same ones- they shared rather than compete, and while they spent most of their time alone, the bonds that connected them seemed to extend beyond material places and things.
The new species did not understand. They only knew how to compete.
It was too late for the cousin species to reconcile.
So they diverged even further.
Bigger, sharper teeth and more meat in their diet, though they remained omnivorous.
More muscle, more powerful running legs.
And a distinct social hierarchy.
If the concept of leadership had been invented previously, the species did not know of it. They created their own version, using it to hunt more efficiently and look out for each other.
Small family groups stuck together, even once the offspring matured.
Sometimes families would even combine, forming larger groups. Packs.
Their hierarchy became more structured, and yet another new behavior emerged- culture.
Different packs, in different environments, had slightly different lifestyles. They created an identity around this.
For the first time, their history became important to them. Though no one remembered the origin of their kind, they began teaching their offspring their way of life.
They told stories.

July 3 Daily

There once was a city that rested beside the sea.
It had no name but everyone knew it, stretching up, up, up over the horizon line, perched on a rocky outcropping that rose from the waters. When the tides ran low, pulling back from the land, the rock the city lay upon was connected to the earth once more, a long stretch of beach joining its foundations and the coast. When the tide rushed in, the salty waves lapped against its craggy banks, and the city stood alone, an island engulfed by its wild mistress, who beckoned those that lived there into her unpredictable waters.
It was not a city that treated its people to convenience. Its accessibility was ruled by the tides, and even when the water was low and the sands of the seabed gave passage to the rocks it was still a dangerous and difficult path for those from the mainland to tread. A sea holds many things, not just water, and its sands can be just as fickle as its waves. Thus a port had been built into the rock upon which the city lay, but the journey out of it and to the mainland was long and inconvenient. Still, the city’s sailors took comfort in the stairs winding down from its many small streets that led to the docks, where fishing boats bobbed in the water and nets lay strewn about, worn and waterlogged from years of use. They would set out every day from the port, for the city promised good business in both fishing and dreams, and those that lived there were decidedly content with pursuing both. So as the sea’s winds sighed sweetly over the hodgepodge houses and whispered grand notions into their inhabitants’ hearts, the city moved like the waves, ebbing and flowing throughout the day, sailors and fisherfolk, who centered their lives around the siren call of the sea.
Just as the city’s story lay in its buildings and surrounding waters, it also lay in each person who ventured or visited, and loved or lived there. Perhaps it never feels this way, as the grand scheme of things oft focuses on the large, indisputable facts, but every individual will always have some hand in shaping the destiny of the overall story, the grand scheme. In this city of dreamers lived one such individual, one of the many sailors, one of the many who dreamed of the sea. He was a young man, though not young enough to be a child but not old enough to be a father of his own, and not old enough to let go of youthful flights of fancy yet not young enough to believe in their certainty. He was happy to set out to the open water, letting the salty spray wash over his suntanned, freckled face, and he learned how to fish and how to sail and how to read the stars and the waters. This young man loved the city, for it allowed him to flourish, and his dream was to see the day it flourished in return.

…

There once was a city that grew beside the sea.
Even as the waves still crashed and the sea still shone in the sunset, the city on the rocks changed as the years passed. Its people were captivated by a bright young mind they found dwelling in their walls – the young man, who, as he grew, his ideas did, too. Enticed by the promise of being able to pursue their dreams further, the people of the city allowed it to grow from the simple place it had been, from the simple paradise they considered it. A grand bridge was built, spanning the treacherous strip of sometimes beach, connecting the newly strengthened seawalls to the mainland. From there, with wood from the now not distant forest, the fisherfolk constructed greater and grander ships, capable of catching more and more, capable of traveling further and further.
Slowly, new ideas were brought from the mainland. Ideas about governance. Ideas about economy. Ideas about convenience. The young sailor led the people to embrace them, and in turn, they made him a king.

…

There once was a kingdom that towered above the sea.
It had a name, but many forgot it. It never needed a name. To name a dream was a frightful thing. It exposes us to realities we are not yet ready to face.
Even if many did not, the king still heard the siren call of the sea. He chose to ignore it, though. There were many things at stake that dreams would get in the way of.
Ah, the ironies of fate. He wished the city to grow, he nurtured it and allowed it to expand, to thrive, to be something more than a simple fishing town, something beautiful and freeing.
Yet here he was, here they all were, shackled down in their own, make believe bindings. It was no longer the city of dreamers

829 words

Daily: Play instrumental song and write story potraying song || Song: "River Flows in You” || 319 words

June had always been drawn to the far corner of her grandmother’s backyard where carrot and squash were grown. She always felt a sense of calm and serenity walking around the backyard, watering the plant and watching them grow.

After weeks of routine cloudless sunshine in the day and rain by the night, the garden was blooming with beautiful flowers of all colors. Today, the gate was left open and June stepped inside and greeted by the scent of those blooming flowers and butterflies fluttering around. She skipped along the paved path and hummed a new song she learned, while a cat walked along the fence top.

Soon the night fell and it started to rain, and June was inside for supper, which her grandmother cooked her favorite dish of instant noodle with extra spicy sauce. After she ate, she couldn’t resist but to step out to the garden one more time before staying the night at grandmother’s spare bedroom. She wanted to see if the squashes were ready for harvest under the moonlight.

As she leaped out of the backdoor, it was something else that caught her attention. It was the trickling sound of water that she heard, along with the crickets chirping in the background. She never noticed that there was a stream or source of water in her grandmother’s backyard, but she listened intendedly that led her to the source. She parted the dense foliage of the bush to reveal what lies hidden behind it. It was a leaky bucket that was left behind that collected the rain water over supper time, and now that the stream of rain water slowly runs down the bush, hitting the ground-hugging plants that made the trickling sound.

June loved nature. And that’s the reason she kept coming back to grandmother’s house for a sleepover, because she can discover peace and warmth in the wonderful nature and her grandmother’s love.

daily: the morning announcements by sweven

the sun shines warm and comforting like a carpet on the ground, giving everything a yellow tinge. small houses, with shingled roofs and yellow timber walls, lie splayed along the streets like splotches of paint on a green canvas. i zip along on my bike through the dirt roads and toss the newspapers in front of each house.
freedom.
not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky.
i'm speeding down towards the end of the street and the field where the markets are. bright tents pop out of the ground everywhere i look. i grin. i'd remembered to bring my money today, and the smells of sweet desserts waft up to me. as i reach the end of the street, i park my bike and race towards the markets.
the sounds of chatter and shouting vendors envelop me as i run through the stalls. i glance at the myriad of things around me.
fairy floss.
wooden carvings.
necklaces.
bookmarks.
hairpins.
fruit.
vegetables.
recycled denim.
old scrap.
finally. a sky-blue tent with a sweet smell draws me in. my friend josie's already there, licking pink icing off her fingers and scanning the trays for her next find.
“how did you get here so quick?” i ask. “i thought you were doing the news run today too.”
she smiles. “i was. i just got here.”
“wow. well, what do you recommend?” i gesture to the cupcakes.
“Smells Like A Summer Day, definitely. and Tastes Like A Dream is really good too.”
i pick Smells Like A Summer Day and pay the three dollars. the salty waves seem to roll off the smell of it. i can't quite place the smell itself, but it reminds me of swimming and sandcastles, the bliss of holidays, making memories with josie. i stuff it in my mouth.
it's amazing.
“awesome. i want another one.”
josie raises an eyebrow. “you know what happens if you have too many.”
“i know… okay, fine.”
“you want to go to my place?” josie says. “we can ride down the hill. see if we can climb the tree this time. try out something from my new cookbook.”
“of course.”
life is perfect.

Daily 4: Instrumental Song Imagery
word count - 384 words

Rays of blue and yellow spread across the sky - the sun was setting across the valley and it looked absolutely gorgeous. It was as if someone had dipped their paint brush in a deep shade of indigo, and proceeded to mix in a saffron yellow without even bothering to clean the brush. It was time for change, and this is where it was going to begin. Time and time again I have had to prove myself over and over again, but to tell you the truth, I've got one less problem without you.

Swords high, clashing above, I can see the whole battlefield clearly. Outcries of war and burning torches don't end the battle.. the war is just beginning. My head's in the clouds, judgment fallen to the ground, it's as if my truth is what guides me. I feel like fear is what guides me, it's what pushes me past my limits, and eventually to that breaking point. When things get hard, I feel like falling to the ground..scared of living one more day and fighting for another light. All around me, loved ones falling, it brings a sense of pain that I never knew I could feel.

I shoulder a burden, one that those around me could practically care less about. But I know that my time has yet to come to and end. I must fight for more. I should live for more. A society where all of us are equal - everyone valued, and safe. Well, this is just another one of my silly fantasies as my townsfolk would say. I am living in nothing but a made up world where my delusions keep me going. It feels wrong to fall into the pattern- the path that others have forged for me. When I want to make a name for myself, a chance to prove that I a more than just a little nuisance in everyone's lives.

As the illuminating sun began to set, the battlefield gained a sense of calm. The breeze blew past the forest trees where everything was ended once and for all. The waters beneath flooding the mind, taking control and overcoming. That sense of what mysteries approach us from behind is the fear that keeps me going.

Weekly 1 for Bi-Fi
1926 words

PART 1
The room was chaos. I’d been sitting on the mattress for hours, too lazy to clean up the clothes and towels splayed across the bed. The desk on the far wall was packed with things. Two monitors, a wallet, an umbrella, miscellaneous pieces of paper, water bottles – everything you could hope to need but never use. Sun fell in from the door on the right, landing on a small portion of the wooden floor and letting the rest of the mess curl up in shadow.
The floor, by contrast, was bare but for a pair of sandals, a white cable, and a magazine. Bags were hung up neatly on the white walls, and a curtain on the side of a window let me stare at the mountainous view. It was all like a very strange game of floor-is-lava. And, letting my thick jumper fall onto the wooden boards, I let the first thing lose.
(155 words)
1st part by ever/kirte

The pond buzzed with activity. There were beetles scurrying about on lily pads and flies buzzing overhead, and birds chirped cheerfully, keeping their beady little eyes slyly trained on the water in case of an appearance of a tasty morsel. Rats intermittently peeked through the glass at a far end of the pond, their little ears twitching in suspense. Tiny tadpoles swam in circles, seemingly chasing each other, leaving barely a ripple. A willow tree drooped downwards, its slender branches trailing in the water, the leaves circling lazily with the gentle breeze. Squirrels scampered up the tree, nuts within their paws, and disappeared within the branches with a quiet rustle, probably to hide their hoard. The murky green water seemed strangely inviting, despite it clearly not being quite safe in that vein, but the smell of slowly composting leaves, animals, and other organic molecules was an ample deterrent for any foolishly brave human. The pond was not meant for human enjoyment.

I’ve come to the edge of the earth.
Dying grass pokes through the sandy soil. A puddle reminiscent of a pond sits in a depression, murky with green algae on the edges. Weeds spring up on its edges, and dead frogs and insects line the depression. A struggling willow leans over the ground as if pleading for water. A rusty iron fence stands just beyond it, marking the end of someone’s farm.
It’s just so… ordinary.
Bleak.
Hopeless.
But in the sky, things are different. In the sky is a miracle. Clouds.
Shades of grey fall flat over the land, pressing the sky in, giving the poor land some hope. This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is what I’ve struggled through the heat to see. And because of that heat, I can only stand and sweat. I wouldn’t dare touch the metal car, even sit on the hot sand.
How long is it going to take?
Precious water drenches the land.
(163 words)

PART 2
Scarlett Alton was wrong. So disastrously wrong.
The lab she worked in hid deep in the earth, reserved for experiments like this. Experiments that would destroy significant amounts of equipment if done on a larger scale, on higher ground. The scale of this was way too big.
Dark purple liquid streamed from cracks in the glass vial that struggled to contain it, bubbling over the edge and giving the air a foul smell. She fished a lab mask out of a box and fiddled with it. It took precious seconds to put it on.
She breathed deep.
As liquid bubbled onto the plate the vial rested on, she ran for the shelves of chemicals, scanning the rows for inhibitors. She found one and grabbed it, rushing to the plate.
Every last drop spilled into the vial.
The liquid subsided slightly.
Only slightly.
She grabbed another inhibitor and poured it onto the vile concoction as the deep purple liquid kept oozing. Nothing worked. The liquid was eating slowly through the plate, cutting through material no other mixture had made a dent in. More cracks appeared in the vial-
The vial burst.
Scarlett screamed as mixture sprayed over her full lab coat, the metal roof and rock walls, the steel table the experiment was placed on. There was only one thing she could do. She was only a junior. They never should have put her here, in this room.
Shedding her coat, she flung it into the dirty-coats box and pushed open the door. Her feet pulled her as fast as they could to the lift. She had a long ride. She could only hope that the lift was here, that nobody would see her, that nobody would know it was her who left highly corrosive liquid in a lab.
Pops, cracks and yells echoed through the labs as the innocent ding-dong of the lift sounded. Scarlett heard distant screams as she fell to the lift floor’s galvanised steel.
She was so wrong.
—
Page 274
Alton’s Concoction is a highly corrosive mixture of chemicals.
It is dark purple in liquid form and made by mixing ██████ and █████████ ████.
Stupid university. Nobody had to black out the chemicals. They could at least give the names to senior students if they asked. It’s not as if the whole lab blew up when Alton tried it.
Whatever the names are, Evelyn will find them.
You’re supposed to do experiments if you study chemistry, aren’t you? Even dangerous ones. Especially dangerous ones, if that’s the topic you’re studying. Evelyn’s heard a thousand lab safety talks. It won’t hurt to miss talk a-thousand-and-one.
Nothing’s going to hurt her. Not if she uses every tiny precaution and safety factor in existence. Nothing bad will happen.
Nothing at all.
Taking a deep breath, she strides into the lab and dons a lab coat. Her leather shoes are done up. Not a trip hazard. She brought nothing. There are no chairs in the lab. No food. Nobody’s used this one for at least a day – clear from the sparkling clean steel benches and perfect alphabetically organised chemicals.
Evelyn takes another deep breath and gets to work.

two hours later
Evelyn is grinning ear to ear.
Deep purple. A little steamy, a little bubbly. Just like the description. It’s perfect. She’s got it right. All she has to remember is-
Crack.
Loud for a student. Probably some stupid junior-
Crack.
That was in this room. Evelyn glances at the windows. Fine. She scans the room for anything broken. All fine.
She looks at the vial.
At the liquid bleeding through.
No.
She’s wrong.
So wrong.
(606 words)

PART 3
Wind caresses my skin as I adjust to the dragon’s scaly back.
Flying. On a dragon.
Never in my wildest dreams had I thought this would happen. I scream in excitement as the red beast shoots into the sky, smiling. Everything the villages below thought about dragons was wrong. So wrong. Leathery wings push us further into the air, gently rising and falling. It’s amazing, dreamy, heavenly, perfect. So much more than I ever thought a mountain hike could be. Then again, this doesn’t normally happen in hiking.
The dragon points his nose to the ground, and I’m speeding down.
My heart races. My head throbs.
¬Down.
I slipped off the sturdy rock of the mountain. Rocks. Dust. I couldn’t think. What was it?
An avalanche.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I was tumbling down, down, down, just another rock with all the others. I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t cry. I was completely frozen in shock. Numb.
Everything was pain and terror. Blood. Boulders. I could have been dead.
Might as well have been dead.
All I felt was agony.
I didn’t know how long I’d fallen for, but it was getting darker. I bumped on something. I opened my mouth to scream. Ate rocks. Coughed them out. Screamed.
I scream hard.
We’re going down.
The scales of the dragon’s back dig into my skin as air rushes past us. Too fast. Too hard. I grip onto the beast’s horns until my knuckles turn white. The world closes into my drumming heart, the dragon’s roars piercing.
I scream.
The trees zoom closer as the dragon’s leathery wings open. My heart beats in my ears. The world seems to right itself again, loosening the knot in my stomach, and I release a shaky breath. We’re not going down.
Everything is fine.
The mountain extends below me, a carpet of green, rock piercing holes in the foliage. Rock cracks below the dragon’s feet as it lands and waits for me to get down. I jump off its back on shaking legs, onto black rock, and admire the purple and orange sky. A ball of yellow sinks behind the mountains as I soak in the sight.
I thank the dragon and start to descend.
(370 words)

PART 4
Fire rages through the bush.
I look outside the house as wafts of smoke drift inside. No sign of fire here yet – but I know it’s only a few kilometres away. I need to leave.
I fly around the cottage, pulling clothes, hats, food and water into a small suitcase. I look back to the bush. It looks almost fine. Almost thriving, except for a few plants wilted from the heat. Small signs here and there. That’s all it takes.
Run.
The suitcase is full. My heart is pounding. I take an extra muesli bar for the drive and sprint to the car.
Faster.
I go as hard as I can, shoving my suitcase into the back. I get out the key and push it into the lock. The lock clicks in my hand.
Faster.
I hit the accelerator with all the force I can muster. The car speeds off the driveway and onto the road. I almost look back at the gum trees and bushes and vines and birds and the occasional koala. I almost look back at my timber-and-tin home with the yellow walls and red roof.
But I don’t.
I speed along the freeway with not a thought in my head but keep running.
Five hours later
It’s lunchtime, but I yawn.
Five hours sitting in a car does something to your body. I’m still on the freeway, heading for… where am I heading for? Nowhere in particular, really – maybe Brisbane, maybe Toowoomba. All the signs are pointing to it. I’ll stay there for the night. Unless it’s got a high fire danger. Then I’ll go somewhere… if I listen to the radio, I’d get a better idea of where got hit.
I crank up the volume dial and get static-filled talking.
…raging across south-east Queensland. Areas from Gladstone-
That was me. Thank goodness I got out of there.
-to Kingaroy are currently most at risk.
I escaped. I escaped. Alive. My heart pulses loud and fast from the relived panic.
I take the exit to Toowoomba.

one month later
I’m nearly there. Google Maps says this is the road – not exactly helpful, given every road is hundreds of kilometres long, but I’m tingling with anxiety and a hint of excitement. The place probably got burnt down. I can’t keep my hopes up. It probably got burnt to an unrecognisable crisp, given the walls were timber. The tin… I don’t know about the tin.
“Your destination is on your left, in one hundred meters.”
Thanks, Google.
I pull up at what used to be the driveway and freeze.
It’s black and white.
Yes, the rest of the road was exactly like that, but to see the familiar backyard of plants blackened and dead still hurts a little differently. I planted a few of those trees. That huge, charred gum was where I used to sit and crochet.
Everything in me is hollow.
I turn to the house.
I walk to the ash-white spot where the crow I eventually named Maggie used to sit and wait for food, the smoke-grey pot that used to be my garden bed. The house itself is surprisingly okay. Half the walls are burnt, but only half. Some flimsy bits of wall still keep the place up somehow. The yellow is gone. So is the red of the tin roof, which has dented in places from big tree branches. I manage to walk inside.
This was the place where I talked with my friends for hours.
This was the place where I still kept my teddy bears.
That was the place where I learned countless recipes and learned from countless mistakes.
That charred mess is the rug my nanna made.
Everything.
Gone.
I sit on the floor and let a tear slide down my face.
(632 words)

Thank you for viewing my weekly.

Daily: July 4 | Under The Gazebo (340 words)

Author's Note: This is inspired by Cardigan by Taylor Swift, which was suggested by a friend

The strong winds directed the rains towards the dilapidated gazebo, showering Val and Jacob under the starry night sky.

“This seems fitting,” Val snidely remarked. She knew what Jacob was going to say, but she still could not help her scarred heart from feeling torn.
“And I wonder why,” Jacob replied, combing his wet hair back, averting his gaze from Val's brown eyes.

Silence overtook the young couple, leaving only the quiet sound of rain and the distant roars of thunder. Melancholy surrounded the gazebo, patiently waiting for one of the young adults to break the cold air.
Val could not help it. She directed her gaze to Jacob, who still could not make eye contact with her.
“I thought you understood me, Jacob,” She said under her breath, struggling to contain her pained expression.
“And I thought you understood me too.”
He finally met her gaze with his piercing grayish-blue eyes. He was serious, yet had no remorse.
“I have tried to understand you, Jacob! I have been trying to understand you for three years, and you repay me by telling me I cannot pursue my lifelong passion?” Val wanted to scream. She wanted to express her three years of rage through her words, yet she was too drained to even raise her voice at him, for it was useless.
“Val, do you seriously think-”
“No amount of explanation will ever make me forgive you, Jacob Amon. We're over, and I do not want to see you again.”
She wanted to cry, but no tears flowed from her burnt out eyes. She turned her back on Jacob and began to walk away, soaking herself in the continuous rains. The further she walked, the more distant Jacob's cries became, until she could only hear the rain and thunder.

Her muddied boots reached the front porch of her home. Tears began to form as she slowly rested her head on the mahogany door.
As the town peacefully slept through the cold night, a young, brokenhearted Val cried on her front door.

Daily #4 392/300
Chosen song: The Principal, Melanie Martinez (Instrumental)
______________________

I couldn’t recall how I ended up in the middle of the busy, bustling crowd during the market’s rush hour, though I could clearly remember my distaste for claustrophobic, obnoxious masses of mankind. My ears rang as different noises bombarded my senses, and I silently cursed the inventor of noisy shop bells. Loud ringing constantly echoed throughout the area, battling with the already ear-piercing yells of the shoppers around me.

Pushing against the tides, I managed to find a pocket of space beside a phone booth to finally catch my breath. Shakily, I fished a crumpled shopping list out of my pocket, sighing as my eyes trailed over it’s length. Facing the crowd seemed to be inevitable, unless I planned on hiding in my corner for the next couple hours. Reluctantly, I took a deep breath, and pushed my way back into the middle of the human sea.

Finding a rhythm in my pace, I pushed through the people, dodging and weaving around all the random pedestrians who decided it was socially ok to stand stationary in the middle of a busy swarm of people. I found a current to ride, following it towards a green grocer. Hurriedly, I collected a bag of apples and returned to the masses.

With the smallest amount of difficulty as possible, I managed to navigate the wild marketplace. Soon, there was only one item remaining on my shopping list, however, it just happened to be from the busiest booth. Internally cringing, I knew there was no alternative; I’d have to suffer through the people. Begrudgingly, I forced my way into the excessively long queue, mentally preparing for the long and strenuous wait ahead of me.

Time seemed to sense my impatience, passing slower than ever simply to spite me. I sighed, and even though I was tired, overwhelmed, and longing to leave, I was almost at the front of the queue, so I forced myself to stick it out. Finally, after three lifetimes, the old lady ahead of me managed to collect her change and wander off. I grabbed my items as fast as humanly possible, and bolted.

As I sat in the peaceful sanctuary of my car, I released the breath I didn’t realise I was holding. I bathed in the sweet silence gratefully, glad to be free of the busy markets for another week.
______________________

return to the lagoon?

For today's daily, search up and listen to an instrumental song – maybe it's a classical song, or perhaps it's a more modern song. Think about the mood and atmosphere the song is trying to portray. After you listen to a portion of or the entire song, write a story of 300 words inspired by the mood of the song for 200 points! An additional 100 points if you share the song-inspired story you wrote!

Word Count: 818
Inspired by “To Keep You From Breaking” by Kelsey Woods

The boy had been through so much. He was battered, but the biggest bruise of all had to have been on his heart. The girl didn’t know how much more he could take. She could practically see the fissures running through his heart like cracked ice. But he hadn’t broken. Not yet. And she would do anything, give anything, to keep that boy safe.
Even if it was the last thing she did.
“We have to go,” the boy said, his hoarse voice cutting through her thoughts, interrupting her silent promise.
She looked up at him, the boy she loved more than life itself. She remembered him before, back before all of this had started. That time was getting harder to recall, but she could still picture his face then clearly. He’d been so handsome, so jovial. Though to her he would always be the most beautiful person in the world, there was no denying he now looked all the worse for wear. His brown hair had grown long, with stringy strands sticking to his pasty, scar marked face. He was thin and dirty and, though he tried to hide it, he walked with a limo that hadn’t been there before.
But most noticeable was the lack of light in his blue eyes. Before they had seemed to glow with the light of a thousand fiery starts, but he now looked completely resigned to his fate at whatever came next and that, more than anything, broke the girl’s heart.
“Do we have to?” The girl asked, making one last effort to change things. “Can’t we hide somewhere?”
As pitiful as it was, a continued life on the run beat the alternative.
“Hide where?” The boy countered. “And do what? You know we can’t. You know we have no choice.”
The girl nodded. She did know. She knew she had no choice but to follow the love of her life into the vipers nest and hope they could get out without being bit.
Later, after hours of exhausting hiking, the despondent pair found themselves marching through a cavern. The stone walls and stalagmites were more blue than grey, and bioluminescent organisms gave the place a soft, ethereal glow, illuminating clear pools. It should have been beautiful, the kind of place that would take your breath away. But the sight was lost on the girl, who was filled with an intense sense of dread. Somehow, deep in her bones, she knew this would be the last place they ever walked together.
There was so much left to say. So much they couldn’t say. But they didn’t say any of it. They seemed to be in unspoken agreement that talking would just make what they had to do harder. So they continued on silently towards the fate that, if they were both being honest, they had already accepted long ago.
They reached what appeared to be a natural chamber, at the center of which was a deep lagoon. They looked at each other and nodded, grim. This was what they had came for.
Slowly, as if in a trance, the boy approached the lagoon and knelt at the water’s edge. Carefully, he pulled a bundle from his bag and unwrapped the crystal chalice inside. Still moving with precision, he filled the chalice with clear water from the lagoon. It gave off a sickly sweet scent.
They both knew what would happen if he drank it. They knew the risk. But they also knew the sacrifice was necessary to bring peace to their world. But as the boy brought the chalice to his mouth, the girl knew something else.
It wasn’t his sacrifice to make.
Just before the fragrant water hit his lips, the girl snatched it away and downed it all herself, in one gulp.
There was a flash of light, an anguished sound, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Then the girl was falling, landing in the arms of the still kneeling boy. He cradled her gently as her eyes rolled back into her head.
Her long golden hair and white dress spilled out around them, the rest of her body completely slack. He cupped her face in his hand, a shining tear making its way down his face. The salt burned the scratches, but he didn’t notice. All he could think about was the fact that his world may have been saved, but in truth his entire world was laying unmoving in his arms.
The whole cavern was as still as she, as if mourning along with the boy. Even the bioluminescent light seemed dimmer, but perhaps that was just grief clouding his eyes.
The girl hasn’t known how much more the boy could take. He’d been through so much. But there was still so much left to do. And she would make sure he had the chance, even when it was the last thing she did.

Name: Ava
Cabin: Sci-Fi
Content: July 4th Daily
Wordcount: 1078/300
Topic: search up and listen to an instrumental song. Think about the mood and atmosphere the song is trying to portray. Write a story inspired by the mood of the song.

Song I used- Misirlou

Claustrophobia had never felt worse.

I crawled through the narrow vents of the museum, breathing shakily. The bigger opening was just up ahead- just a few more moments and it would be alright.

“MYA!” my partner hissed through her earpiece into mine, sending a small echo through the empty vents. “Hurry up, this stupid Duke keeps asking me to dance!”

“Then dance, idiot,” I gritted my teeth, practically begging to get out of the small space. All I could do was shiver because of the excessive air conditioning. Why on earth did they turn it up so high?

“Every moment I am with him, more putrid perfume and sweat waft around me,” Ximena complained. I could practically see her disgruntled face through the earpiece.

“Oh suck it up, you big baby,” I groaned. “Just dance with the d**n Duke. It'll buy us some time, at least.”

“I did not get called out of jail to waltz with an old fart! I'm barely seventeen and that fifty-year-old keeps glancing at me like I'm a piece of birthday cake,” Ximena whined. I took a deep breath. The wide vents are up ahead. The wide vents are up ahead.

“The reason you were called out of jail by the commander was because you're a liar,” I said, trying to feign calmness. “So go ahead and lie, pretend you're interested in the Duke, and buy me a few more minutes. Absolutely do not let him come into the exhibition- I'm barely halfway there.”

“Why are you taking so long then?” She said angrily into the earpiece. “I told you to let ME do that instead? What would you do if you were in my place-”

“Dance with the f*****g duke, Ximena,” I said sharply through my earpiece, tired of her complaining. Why, oh why, did the commander choose her as my partner? I would've paired with anybody in the entire company, but it just had to be a prisoner.

There was a silence through the earpiece as I desperately cruised forward, finally catching sight of an opening to a bigger vent. “Screw you,” I heard Ximena murmur before a voice in the background was heard. To be honest, it really did sound like my grandpa- a trickle of pity seeped in for Ximena's current situation. However, I could hear her smooth voice talk to the Duke through the earpiece and decided it would be fine. The only reason she was here was to distract others, and then if the mission was successful, two years would be taken off her sentence. I thought that was a pretty good deal.

Reaching the wider space, I breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't last long as I looked up to see the one person I wished I would never see in this place, holding a gun up.

“Blake, can you put the godd**n gun down,” I groaned, putting my head in my hands. There was no way that we would get this mission down now, for sure.

“Why should I?” The dastardly man said, his gaze fixated on me. “I have the upper hand here. I don't find a reason why I should put this weapon down.”

“Why are you even here?” I said, close to screaming at him. I had to talk in a low voice or the sounds would travel through the vents and alert the security- but Blake was talking in an annoying loud way.

“To stop you, of course. Why else?” he said. I clenched my fists. I had no weapon on me except a small dagger- which I would probably never reach in time If he pulled the trigger.

“Blake, can you shut up?” I whispered. His voice was getting a little too noisy for my liking.

“I'll give you a deal,” he said, not even trying to be quieter. “I'll just hold you here till the Duke gets into the exhibition and takes the diamond to the crowd. I won't even shoot you- perhaps I'll graze you once or twice.”

“Gee, that sure is the finest offer I've ever had,” I said, my hands nimbly climbing to my belt silently. I was running out of time. All I needed to do was keep him distracted. I could hear Ximena convince the Duke to dance for a bit more through my earpiece- my respect for her going up a little bit more.

The loud music of the ball started up, changing from the soft waltzing songs, vibrating through the vents. Blake looked around in surprise, and it was only that one split second I needed. I grabbed my dagger and threw it at him, pinning his shirt to the vent. How my dagger had managed to pull that off, I have no clue. I swiftly grabbed the gun from him and pocketed it as he scowled at me, trying to pull the dagger out of his shirt. Needless to say, it would be there for a long time.

While he struggled I pulled out the belt from his uniform and tied his struggling hands together. I might have gotten knocked in the face a couple of times with his struggling fists, but I managed to get away with just a slightly bruised cheek.

“See you,” I said, flicking two fingers from my head as I crawled as fast as I could through the vent. I could hear him shouting curses at me from behind and I winced, worried it would carry down to the room. “Ximena, Blake is tied up. Just keep the Duke occupied for a few more minutes,” I whispered to her. A low grunt was all I got in reply, and I chose to believe that it was because she was still with the Duke and couldn't be seen as a mad person talking to the air.

Blake's curses, if possible, got louder as I crawled further away from him. Seething at his interference, I prayed that the music was loud enough that nobody heard the mysterious sounds coming from the grills. Finding the vent of the exhibition, I quietly opened it with the screwdriver inside her pouch. My dagger was long gone- if anyone tried to attack me, the only weapon I had left was this mechanical tool.

Dropping down as silently as possible, I let out a shaky breath I didn't know I was holding. I carefully approached the huge glittering diamond in the middle of the room, jumping over the lasers undetected.

“Found you.”

Go back

daily 4: instrumental song (328 words)

The song I listened to was Against My Skin by Liam Thomas. Immediately when I heard the song, I thought of the words ‘beautiful fragile thing’, as well as ‘growth’, ‘innocence’, and ‘playfulness’. so I tried to tie it all together <3


the boy first came when ella was twelve, showing up at her door with a bouquet of flowers, a crooked smirk, and a beaten-up bike discarded on her house’s small lawn.

“hi,” he said softly, bright amber eyes shining as he shyly extended a flower towards her, plump, milk-white petals glistening with dew in the midmorning sunlight.

it was the most beautiful thing ella had ever seen.

she stood in the doorway adjusting her glasses, not used to the attention. at the urging of the boy, she reached for the flower and took it into her hands, breath catching as she examined each stem and leaf.

“it’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“thanks, ella,” the boy said, smiling brightly. “my mami calls them ellaliliies and they made me think of you.”

ella’s cheeks took on a rosy glow as she clasped her hands around the ellalily, surprised and delighted that anybody would give her such a thoughtful gift.

in that moment, ella knew that this boy would be special.

the boy came again when ella was sixteen, and she barely recognized him this time: for the boy from before had grown into a young man, a man made of starched shirts and clipped words. he was not the boy she had known, but his wide amber eyes filled with the same affectionate passion and intensity as he promised her the world.

but ella didn’t want the world. she only wanted the boy. so he left, brokenhearted, as she watched from the doorway, wishing only that the her boy would return without the bells and whistles, and would finally realize he was good enough for her, just the way he was.

finally, when ella was twenty-two, the man came back, smile just as wide, eyes just as bright; and this time, he promised her nothing but himself. and then, only then, did they live happily ever after, carving a life out of midmorning light and the warmth of each other’s arms.

daily 4: instrumental song (328 words)

The song I listened to was Against My Skin by Liam Thomas. Immediately when I heard the song, I thought of the words ‘beautiful fragile thing’, as well as ‘growth’, ‘innocence’, and ‘playfulness’. so I tried to tie it all together <3

the boy first came when ella was twelve, showing up at her door with a bouquet of flowers, a crooked smirk, and a beaten-up bike discarded on her house’s small lawn.

“hi,” he said softly, bright amber eyes shining as he shyly extended a flower towards her, plump, milk-white petals glistening with dew in the midmorning sunlight.

it was the most beautiful thing ella had ever seen.

she stood in the doorway adjusting her glasses, not used to the attention. at the urging of the boy, she reached for the flower and took it into her hands, breath catching as she examined each stem and leaf.

“it’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“thanks, ella,” the boy said, smiling brightly. “my mami calls them ellaliliies and they made me think of you.”

ella’s cheeks took on a rosy glow as she clasped her hands around the ellalily, surprised and delighted that anybody would give her such a thoughtful gift.

in that moment, ella knew that this boy would be special.

the boy came again when ella was sixteen, and she barely recognized him this time: for the boy from before had grown into a young man, a man made of starched shirts and clipped words. he was not the boy she had known, but his wide amber eyes filled with the same affectionate passion and intensity as he promised her the world.

but ella didn’t want the world. she only wanted the boy. so he left, brokenhearted, as she watched from the doorway, wishing only that the her boy would return without the bells and whistles, and would finally realize he was good enough for her, just the way he was.

finally, when ella was twenty-two, the man came back, smile just as wide, eyes just as bright; and this time, he promised her nothing but himself. and then, only then, did they live happily ever after, carving a life out of midmorning light and the warmth of each other’s arms.

Daily #4
7/4/2024
304 words

Based off of/inspired by Atom 1 by Sleeping At Last.

It was summer.

Freed from the weight of backpacks and grades. A t-shirt, sandals, and a hastily pulled back ponytail. Flushed faces giggling and glistening with beads of sweat in the heat. The joy of childhood, of dreams and wishing on shooting stars.

This, this was the perfect time.

Being carefree and running from the worries. Shoulders brushing and hair fanned out in the field, grass pricking bare legs. Watching clouds move across the sky, their abstract shapes ever changing. Having a friend by your side, comfortable in the quiet.

If it could stay like this forever…

A sun disappearing behind a hill, the golden sky painted over with pink, purple, and blue. The sprinkling of stars across the dark canvas, as the nighttime chorus joined the lively chatter. Pointing out images in stars and locating the Big Dipper. The day didn’t start, the day never ended.

This was us.

Secrets shared in hushed whispers under the cover of the woods. Memories made with bruises and wiggly teeth. Incoherent melodies filling the silence. Childhood innocence, crying over scraped knees, but running anyway.

Time flies by.

One, two, three years. “Too old.” “Too busy.” “Too cool.” The happiness of childhood summers slipping away into faded memories. You have to ‘grow up’ and focus on what’s important.

’Important’ doesn’t include for frolicking in nature and chasing bubbles across a backyard. ‘Important’ isn’t staring at the sky for hours and talking with people who care for you, even in the mundane. ‘Important’ should be looking toward the future and filling your hours with studying and work.

It is summer.

Hearts longing for childlike dreams and giggles bubbling over while standing in front of fans. Scrapped knees and bruises and tousled hair. Fingers sticky with jelly and PB&J filled stomachs.

Searching for the childhood summers, daring to dream.

Weekly #1 Part #1:
Early on an 1840’s morning, a man arrived at the railway station, awaiting what would be a one hour train ride. The interior to the building was fairly moderate in size, but dilapidated and the wood was deteriorating. The gentleman who was selling the tickets noticeably had a large California flag behind him. There were little to no other folks inside of the building, besides an elderly man with few belongings with him. The station was located very close to the railway, and every few minutes you would hear the sounds of the captain honking the horn to his train, along with the painfully loud sounds of the train scraping across the tracks. Although the station was relatively isolated, thousands had actually arrived in California recently; the economy had been surging after folks from all across the country arrived to profit off of the gold industry. The man who was waiting for his train ride was on his way to begin his own work in discovering gold.

Weekly #1 swap with @ayoshawty

After the war ended, I was finally released from a P.O.W. camp. For many, the release from prison is supposed to be a liberating thing. However, for me, that camp took everything away from me. While my fellow comrades were dying in war, I was held hostage by the enemy for years and I was pretty much helpless. I was once in a high-ranking position where I fought beside my troops, only for me to be restrained behind fences while they died on the front-lines without me. After the war ended, I left my camp for the first time and returned home, only to realize I had nothing left. I had no job, no money, and no place to call home. Hell, even the plane that I loved flying so much was dismantled and destroyed by the Army after the war, and I can't even explain how much that angered me. Even though we won that war, and we defeated the enemy, we also made huge sacrifices along the way. I may feel victory for my country, but I didn’t feel victory for myself. I felt empty after the war was over.

04/07/24 Daily
Inspired by the 1st movement of Beethoven's 5th symphony (Made by Ludwig Van Beethoven)

I sprinted through the snow and ice, shocked and in terror, never looking back, never stopping, even when my lungs burned, begging me to slow. Rocks fell from everywhere down the cliff side, and fast. Silently, I prayed that my family had made it out. My heart raced. How did it come to this?

10 minutes earlier…

I made my way through the village pathways. I wanted to be alone. People crowded around the market - there was less food to go around now. On the icy mountain side where I lived, I liked to find places to clear my head; life was really busy these days, with having to find food along with schoolwork.

I climbed up the rocky, ice-covered cliff and sat up on a small ledge, sighed, and looked around. That was when I saw the cracks in the ground. My eyes widened as I raised them upward: rocks - boulders, pebbles, small and big, - raced down the cliffs, bringing everything with them. An avalanche.

Immediately, I jumped down and began to run back home. I have to tell everyone, I thought, but as I ran, a huge pile of rocks fell onto the path right in-front of me with a deafening crash . No way out, then. Everything fell in huge clumps like bombs in a war, ferociously decimating the path ahead. I was constantly jumping over wreckage and rubble, trying to escape the disaster.

I ran, and kept running and running and running. I lost track of time. Maybe minutes passed, maybe hours, maybe weeks. I only stopped when the avalanche was just a tiny, faint noise amongst the ringing in my ears. I lay down in the snow, exhausted and alone. Where was my family? Would I see them again? Were they even alive?

297 words, it's quite intense and emotional, but so was the song sort of. I'm really enjoying swc!