Daily #11
7/11/2024
255 words

Stop by your local Ikea and pick up the latest Writer Assistant 3000! Now updated to have a purifying water filter and the ability to make coffee and tea. This self-care product is perfect for writers who sit at their desks and touch grass only every so often. Comes with a pencil sharpener, charging port supporting many outlets, water system (needs to be connected to a source of water), shelves, and a built-in hand massager. This can also double as a space for your pets to hang out in while you are working! Look at the cats! They love it!
Critically acclaimed by many great authors, the Brain Dumper™ is a special feature exclusive to the Writer Assistant 3000. Just throw a scrapped idea and throw it in the bin! The Brain Dumper™ catalogues your thrown away ideas and saves them for you in a handy dandy notebook for you to look through when your mental well of ideas runs dry.

“I recommend the Writer Assistant 3000 to any writer who has pets! They love it!” - A Crazy Cat Lady (who does not write)

“Don't get this if you don't want to achieve all of your life goals. I was able to love mangoes and travel the world.” - A Rich Kid

“The Writer Assistant ruined my life. It was the wo-” - A Total Liar

(Batteries and parts not included. Results are not guaranteed and a decrease of quality of life by acquiring this device is by all means your fault, not Ikea's.)

Word War with Miner! Word Count: 208 (went over the timer by two or so seconds, count probably at 201 at the end of the timer) (also count does not include prompt)

“Dear diary, today I finally figured it out."

I always wondered what if life was like the movies, but I never thought that it would get this far. I was running to school today, trying my best to not be late (but of course I was). I was trying so hard, but I had to wait for a few lights, which was REALLY frustrating. While I was waiting, I thought I saw a small… glitch? I don’t know, it was strange. BUt I looked for that glitch, trying to see if I was just crazy or not. And I wasn’t crazy. As soon as I was able, I crossed to street to look for that glitch, desperately hoping that I could find it. This tangent was annoying, and probably would have gotten me in trouble, but I would deal with it later. Eventually, I found the glitch, a small little hole in the side of the building. Against my better judgement, diary, I jumped in. Now it’s just me, alone, in a weird, digital cage. I don’t have anything to do right now and frankly it’s driving me crazy. So instead of trying to find a way out, I just decided to write this little entry. I’m really scared, but there’s nothing that I can do

daily 7/11
lol this was too much fun to write

The Taylor Sweaker™
Do you listen too much to Taylor Swift? Well we have just the product for you!! This speaker in the shape of the legend herself has no off button! This speaker never runs out of battery and there is one volume setting: 100% so you can embrace Taylor in all her glory at the top of your lungs! It plays a low-quality version of every one of her songs in chronological order, including both versions of Fearless, Speak Now, Red, and 1989! You should be able to find this product easily in Ikea (especially if you’re lost) because as stated before, there’s no off button! It also has flashing lights, so make sure you keep it away from people who may be sensitive to that. The flashing lights never stop either! Get your own Taylor Sweaker™ at IKEA today and experience the phenomenon consumers world-wide are calling an “annoyance” and an “abomination of her work”! It is only $99.99 and there is a two hour warranty! If you aren’t satisfied with our product, we would be happy to lock you up so you never see the light of day again! Guaranteed!
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Call 1-800-MAZASA to order yours today, from the comfort of your home!! (It should arrive within 4-7^34 business days)

July 11th:

“Get ready to stretch those creative muscles with today’s daily - it’s imaginary-product selling day! Create your own wacky, outlandish product and envision it on the shelves of your local (IKEA) store. Can you see it with your mind’s eye? Now go check out some Djungleskog reviews for inspiration to write an advertisement or review for your bizarre product with at least 200 words for 100 points. You can earn an additonal 100 points for sharing proof!”

Author's Notes:
✦ i speedran this in like 15 minutes

The Marshmallow Time Traveller: The Ultimate Product of the 8241st Century!

Have you heard of the Marshmallow Time Traveller? If not, you’re missing out! This product may seem like just a regular bag of marshmallows. However, the user will soon find out that no, this is indeed not your everyday fluffy marshmallows. One bite into these spectacular marshmallows will travel you through time! Not just any random date, however. These marshmallows travel you to the next nearest session of Scratch Writing Camp, also famously known as SWC! It will either travel you to March, July, or November, depending on what month it currently is at the time of use. That way, you will need not to wait any more dreadful Januaries, Februaries, Aprils, Mays, Junes, Augusts, Septembers, Octobers, or Decembers waiting for the next Scratch Writing Camp session to occur. It works like a charm! Plus, the marshmallows come in different flavours. The current available flavours are plain, mango, apple and orange. What a spectacular and useful treat!

What are you waiting for? Come now and buy the Marshmallow Time Traveller!

Side effects of using the Marshmallow Time Traveller may include:
- Temporary dizziness
- Permanent awesomeness
- A mango to teleport in a random location in your house. Trust me, we have attempted to fix this, however we have been unsuccessful for the time being.
You have been warned.

Word Count: ~227

Name: Ava
Cabin: Sci-Fi
Content: July 11th Daily
Wordcount: 224/200
Topic: Create your own wacky, outlandish product and envision it on the shelves of your local (IKEA) store and write an advertisement or review for your bizarre product

Inspiration taken from my little brother

Welcome, dear SWCers. It is known to everyone that we are in dark times, very dark times. In these dark times, we must protect ourselves. Me and my team (which consists of myself and I) have spent a hard two minutes thinking of what to produce as a product that will give us a ton of money protective measure for all unarmed civilians, and here we have it- The sci-fi hoverboard machine gun.

This awesome hoverboard allows you to zip out of troublesome places (which includes the lectures of your parents) and is easily cheaper than a car because a car has more features than a Walmart surfboard. Its most interesting part is the inbuilt machine gun. Due to these terrible times, it is practically armageddon by aespa. This machine gun can be accessed if you step on a small pad at the very tip of your hoverboard. You can use this while flying or even by holding your wonderful hoverboard in your hands.

Comes in all shapes and sizes, with a variety of colors! (insurance not included.) Buy your very own sci-fi hoverboard machine gun today! Trust me, it's a good investment.

Sidenote- keep out of children under the age of 6. We are not responsible for your child zooming off into the unknown because they didn't get a cookie.

Go back

xXfierroorfalafelXx Poetry


July 30

Icecreamoo I like that we can talk about a lot of different things that are often more serious and I have a high respect for you and I'm grateful for the fact that this respect definitely seems mutual. I like that we can talk for a long time, challenging each other, and sometimes disagreeing, but always our conversations feel beneficial and I often feel like I learned something.


Sunclaw68 I can't remember how long ive known you. Definitely since joining SWC but possibly even longer. I've lost track of how many times you were a leader or co leader for my cabin but I remembered you always being a strong leader and being really supportive of your whole cabin. And I really appreciate that

Poetry leaders you made this cabins story so fun and compelling and it drew me in instantly. No offense to poetry of first but I believe this was the first time that I really wanted to join the poetry cabin. I love the storyline but more importantly the fact that I can be inactive with this story but when I get back into it it's easy to catch up and that was something I often struggled with in previous sessions

Poetry cabin: guys we were so close to the bottom and now we're pretty close to the top. That took a lot of hard work and I'm proud of all of us

Litzomania: I have known you forever lol. I mean I remember once you were one of my favorite people to rp with and you helped me a little bit in reexamining Jason Grace and helped me to find a better appreciation for him. And since we started talking again its been crazy it feels like we didn't have these huge gaps between conversations and I wish we weren't in such different timezones because it feels like we could talk forever and though I still sometimes feel like I'm hogging the conversation, talking all about my stuff it makes me really happy to see you enjoying it so much and it actually has helped motivate me to use this story for the weekly.





Daily july 26 a hero failing

“Alright,” Ariadne said, tying the string securely around the post. “As long as we don’t lose this string we can find our way out.”
I stared down into the dark corridor and nodded. “You guys ready?”
I felt Phaethon’s warm calloused hand taking hold of mine. “We’ll be okay,” he said certainly.
We entered the labyrinth, grimacing at the scent of rotten flesh and I squeezed Phaethon’s hand tighter. It was dark and I didn’t notice when Ariadne stopped so I ended up walking into her. Stumbling. I took a step back, “sorry.”
“Ikaros, I don’t think we can do this. I think it’s too late.” Her voice wavered, catching on hooks of pain and grief.
I let go of Phaethon’s hand and took both of Ariadne’s. “We have to do this. Don’t you remember him as a child, how much we loved him? Hate has hurt him, he needs people who love him again.”
“And he’s killed people!” Ariadne shouted. “We failed the day we let my father sink his claws into Asterion.”
At her shouting, there came the sound of a deep and resonant lowing from further into the twisting pathways.
“I know you’re scared,” Phaethon said. “I am too. But we have our defenses if we need them and Ikaros is right, we should hold out hope that he’s still in there. I know there’s the prophecy about me, but really the important ones here are you. Ariadne, you should never underestimate the power of love. I have hope that he will remember you and that you can heal the pain the king put him through.”
“He’s your baby brother. Somewhere he’s still in there.” I said.
Ariadne was silent, probably thinking it over. I hugged Phaethon tightly, his strong arms wrapping around me. “We have to help him,” I said. “Because nobody else will.”
“Okay,” Ariadne said. “Okay you're right. We've come too far to stop now.”
We came to the place where Asterion paced restlessly and the last few moments where we would not wish we had turned around and fled.
He glared at us and slowly we knelt showing we had no weapons at the very least none that he could see. Ariadne placed some of his favorite flowers on the ground. “Remember us, Asterion?”
He blinked and Phaethon squeezed my hand excitedly. “He remembers you.”
a smile started to form on my lips but it quickly vanished when Asterion charged. At once I felt my arm being yanked as Phaethon pulled me out of the way.
“Asterion!” I begged. “We won't hurt you! We won't let Minos hurt you!”
“Ikaros we have to go!” Ariadne shouted. “This was a stupid, stupid idea. We're going to die.”
Asterion bellowed and charged at Phaethon, his horns pointed at his stomach. “Noo!!” I screamed. Everything happened so quickly, I charged at Asterion with my knife. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't hurt him. I would have pleaded but he grabbed me immediately and threw me, knocking all the wind out of me when I landed on the stone ground. I struggled to get to my feet, panting and in pain. “We love you don't do this,” i whispered. Love… how good could love be when he was hurt so much. While Ariadne was distracting Asterion, Phaethon ran toward me. Asterion bellowed in utter rage and ran toward me. Then before I knew what was happening, Phaethon lunged at Asterion to wrestle him bare handed. Immediately filled with adrenaline coursing through my veins and blocking out every sound, I ran to help him but I was grabbed by Ariadne and forced away. Still unable to hear my voice, I screamed into my entire lungs hurt, screamed for her to let me save him. But with arms far stronger than mine, Ariadne dragged me away from the sight of the minotaur, kneeling in front of Phaethon, bloody and unrecognizable.
I felt nothing after that, not the escape from the labyrinth, not the pain as a physician set my broken bones, not the sting of my father slapping me, yelling at me for going into the labyrinth.
I finally felt something when Theophanes let me into his house, he tried saying something but I couldn't hear it I just ran straight for Phaethon's room. He was there laying in bed, a little bruised but perfectly fine. I threw myself into his arms, crying as I finally felt his arms wrapping around me. I could feel my hands on his face, my lips on his, and the taste of his tears. The feeling flickered, the warmth fading, but fiercely I held on. I heard his voice as if underwater but at least I could still feel his embrace. The hand on my shoulder felt like a rock and I startled, knowing it definitely wasn't Phaethon. I looked up and saw Theophanes who never cried, wiping tears from his eyes. “Ikaros…” he held his arms out for a hug. But I shook my head quickly. “No, no.” I found my throat tightening. “Look he's fine see!”
Theophanes frowned. “Ikaros. You can't pretend he's alive,” he said like it was supposed to be kind and gentle.“
”Phaethon is alive!" I screamed, reaching for his hand but finding nothing. I looked around frantically grabbing for him, for that warmth and that love. I could still feel him holding me but that got colder and fainter and when I could no longer hold the memory, I fell crying into Theophanes arms.

weekly 3

Part 1

A: Ignatius woke up on his thin cot to somebody outside blinking the lights in his cell. He stopped himself from the natural response of rubbing his eyes when he woke up because that might show some sort of weakness, but he wasn’t able to prevent his face from looking slightly miffed. He would not rage though; one sign that the poison was taking its course and his former friends would feel justified in killing him. He narrowed his eyes in the direction where he assumed the people who were watching him stood. No, these weren’t his friends, but still… “I served you loyally for over a year,” he said, crossing his arms, rolling his eyes a little here. “You don’t have to be a genius to see that I’m fine.” He kicked at the cot with his toe and gestured at it. “If I’m going to be locked up in here can I at least get a better bed and some books?”
162 words

B: David didn’t really know how long he had spent in the library, poring over books on demons and how they infected people, but it felt like an eternity. He wished Ignatius were here since Ignatius could comprehend information he read so much quicker and honestly would probably have some idea what the books were saying, but of course the fact that Ignatius wasn’t here was kind of the whole problem he needed to solve. He struggled to read a few more sentences of the centuries old text, which was made all the worse by the archivist’s heavy breathing. He groaned just quietly in frustration and immediately everyone glared at him. His mind starting to lose focus, he traced the letters on the page and considered calling Romulus, but no Romulus was trying to enjoy a normal life and his genius would really not be the genius needed for this situation. The slow torture of his mind, the silence, and the smell of old books found a way to combine together and before long, David was leaned way over, head resting on the table, falling asleep. As the world melted away, his Oneiros climbed to its feet and marched into the dream realm with a determination and energy that the sleeping David did not have. It examined the threads and found one that looked promising and followed it. The next thing David knew, he was in a place he wanted to stay extremely far away from: Malcolm’s mind.

239 words

C utterly bedecked with chains and cuffs and a straitjacket, Ignatius was honestly glad he wasn’t really able to look at the unnatural black his veins had become but it wasn’t exactly easy to forget about that when he looked at David sitting across from him and the guards and the demon warding spells that had been drawn all around him. “I’m looking for a cure,” David repeated with certainty in his voice and fire in his eyes. “
Ignatius' laugh was one that he barely recognized anymore. “You couldn’t have just stopped that demon from infecting me huh? You just had to be slow?” He bared his fangs and hissed, which caused one of the guards to jump to action and force the muzzle onto him, but not before Ignatius had a chance to spit, “I’m a child of the abyss now.” Within a few moments he was back to the utter pain and humiliation and became aware of David’s brow furrowing with worry.
164 words


2

That white haired boy is in the shop again. And even though I haven’t actually seen him dealing yet, he might just be really good at hiding it because he has all the makings of a smuggler and that makes him an enemy. It all becomes worse when I realize he is haggling with Harkim to try and get what appears to be the last of the blankets. My blanket has recently gotten frayed past the point of use and we barely get any lights down here let alone heat.
I make my way closer, though I know better than to sound too eager for the blanket right away, and instead I just pretend to browse while listening in on their conversation, and more importantly learning the ways Hakim reacts to various things the boy says. Hakim and I aren’t friends, but we are neighbors. I’ve bought from him before and bought minus the paying more times than that. I’ve shared food with his children and nearly been killed by him several times. But I’ve rarely had to truly haggle with him. I want to snort with laughter when the boy starts bringing up some sob story about how his siblings will be dying of cold and one is just four years old. I wonder where on earth this boy is from because as far as most of us around here are aware, Hakim’s children were expected to make their own way from the time they were twelve.
They say that uptown where the money is and the lights are always shining, people live in grand homes and children stay with their mothers until nearing the age of twenty. Here in the slums twenty is old. People who survive past that age are meant to be respected. For the record Hakim is nearing his mid thirties and he’s done that because of his exceptionally huge fists and the fact that he can apparently punch your face in if you try to rob him, or something like that. The boy’s face is veiny and fairly ugly, like he’s inhaled too many fumes as most of us downtown have, but he doesn’t have the characteristic features of a Vintling like me which immediately makes me hate him even more and think just how much of a punchable face he has. Now it has me thinking that even though I don’t recognize him he was probably one of those non-Vintlings who always used to harass Bastian and I, especially before the Empress took us in and when Ma could barely be bothered to remember us and was more interested in her needles.

(context Vintja is err a magical substance and children born to mothers who used Vintja while pregnant are called Vintlings and are considered by some to be subhuman. This story exists in an extremely dystopian city. The narrator is named Vesper Novak. It’s all still very much in development)

488 words
Part 3




Our protagonist’s story begins in a barn, kicking and wailing, slimy, and covered in the blood of her mother. Now that her mother is rid of her, she’ll have nothing to do with the infant and her face still contorted with pain she waves for her sister Karalie who had helped her to deliver this baby to take it away. So now the baby’s aunt is holding the baby who is quite hungry and she has her wrapped up in a blanket so she won’t get cold. Although he won’t claim this baby, at least not until she has grown up, the aunt knows that this baby’s father is the prince and the future king. This means that Karalie can’t just take the little girl to the orphanage or even raise her herself, because while Karalie is quite good at raising children, the fact of the matter is that aunts and uncles are nearly as bad as step parents. Karalie knows that the best option would be to find a kind old farming couple who had always longed for a child, but Karalie didn’t really know of any and so the next best thing to do was to hike a good distance into the mountains and leave the baby girl there. Now of course, deep down there was some part of Karalie that asked why am I doing this, as she hiked through the mountains which no were not sinister and did not contain the lair of an evil wizard king, but were still rugged and wild terrain where one should really not leave a baby. Well Karalie thought some more about this and she realized, typically when babies were left in the wild and raised by animals or by magical creatures it was because someone had left them there with the intention of nature finishing off the baby and them not having to get their hands dirty. Immediately she knew without a doubt that this was an utterly stupid idea and she held the baby protectively and started heading back down the mountain.
Karalie knew her sister would not raise the baby, so she decided she would have to risk it and raise the little girl herself. When she came home with the baby and told her husband of her plan he let out a great booming laugh and held out his arms. “Well let me see our new daughter.” “Yes,” Karalie agreed. “Daughter. We must make her believe she is our daughter otherwise there might be problems.” “What will we name her?” “We will call her Remi.”
When Remi was ten years old a plague swept through the village killing everyone she had known but for some unexpected reason sparing her.
Dear reader, I hope from the bottom of my heart that you are not an aspiring writer, and if you are, stay away from writing fiction. Seriously, I think you fiction writers have a problem. I mean hasn’t Remi had a bad enough life already? Are you that bored that you need to kill off her entire family? Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stop interrupting.
After the physical and emotional struggle of burying her parents who had been the last of her family to die, Remi sat with her back against a tree, hugging her knees to the chest and looking far into the distance, wondering what she was supposed to do. The death of her entire village probably meant her quest was supposed to start but what was that quest?

583 words

Part 4: (don't ask why i switched to past tense)
Remi packed up all the remaining food that she could in a bag and grabbed a bunch of tools and ropes and other things that she thought would be useful to have for her survival and her apparent quest. Then she headed toward the mountains because the majestic way they loomed in the distance meant they were probably a good place to start her quest and find some old hermit who could be her mentor.
Remi walked until she was exhausted and even by then she was still a good while from the mountain, but it was close to sunset and she was too tired to walk any more. She tried to make a shelter for herself out of large branches but it wasn’t a very good structure. Nervous, but deciding it was good enough, she spent a few restless hours in that shelter before finally falling asleep.
In the afternoon of the second day Remi was on the mountain and blinking back tears because her legs and feet hurt so bad and she was barely eating because she was too scared about running out of food and she didn’t really know where she was going or what kind of creatures lived around here. But Remi had to stay determined and she kept on hiking up that mountain climbing higher and higher.
By the next morning (her night on this mountain had been spent awake in the dread of what could potentially happen) she had finished her water, and was getting really thirsty. Luckily she heard water and she followed the sound until she came to a stream running down the river. Feeling her spirits lift, she knelt at the side of the stream, letting the crystal clear water fill her cupped hands and eagerly drinking mouthfuls of it. She was filling up her leather water pouch when she spotted a huge elk looking at her. She froze as it snorted, the heat from its nostrils swirling with the cold air like smoke. Then it turned its head as if beckoning for her to follow.
Stunned, Remi gathered up her supplies and followed the elk, only remembering to close her mouth after a few minutes had already passed. They walked together for a while until finally the elk stopped.
“What’s over here? Why are we stopped?” Remi asked, looking around. The elk snorted again and lifted a hoof, tapping the ground near their feet. Remi looked down and saw a large hole. She looked back up at the deer skeptically. “In there? Are you crazy? I’m trying to go up not down!” The deer stared Remi down and she crossed her arms, trying to hold her own, but at some point she accepted it. She took a deep breath and lowered herself down into the hole in the earth. “This better be worth it,” she muttered in annoyance to the deer. Then she let go of the ground and free fell through the earth, surprised by just how dark it was.
After a few hours or a few seconds, she began seeing a little with little shreds of light. At one moment she saw a stone man floating in the air and at another point there were girls made of crystal, peeking their heads out of the stone and waving to her. By the time Remi thought of waving back, they were already gone.
Remi landed in a pile of sand, which thankfully was soft to land on and meant she didn’t break her bones, but she was soon spitting out sand. She was filled with fear when she realized she was surrounded by a variety of humans, trolls, and stone people. But one of the trolls offered her a gray hand and helped her to her feet. “Hello, Remi. We’ve been expecting you.”
She blinked. “You have?”
A human smiled. “How would you like to learn how to fight?”
“And get obscenely wealthy?” A man who was definitely made out of precious gems crowed.
Her eyes lit up. “Very much so.”
And this is how Remi began her training as an assassin.
After eight years of intense training, Remi received her first mission and was sent through another earthy portal.
This descent was considerably less exciting than the one when she was ten and once she had stopped falling she was behind a huge but extremely unimpressive gray and blue building. In her training as an assassin Remi had been made to learn several languages but it took her a while to recognize this as English and sound out what was written on the building. Walmart… was there some translation for that? She couldn’t remember.
Remi was dressed to blend in, but still found it baffling that people wore clothes like this and there were so many of them and they were climbing into metal structures that took them away like horseless chariots.
Well aware of her surroundings she was aware of someone watching her. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced over and saw a tired looking person about her age with long slightly orange hair, holding a bright blue bundle under her arm. Remi was good at reading people and noticed that they looked a bit concerned but didn’t say anything.
Remi walked over. “Hey there, excuse me.” Even though the person had been looking at her they still managed to jump a little. “Hey, do you know where the library is?”
“Oh, um,” they took a noticeable step back closer to the building. Remi noticed with a pitying contempt that not only was this person scared, they would have no chance against her in a fight. “Yeah you just head down that street there and then it’s a left turn. There’s a big sign.”
Remi nodded. “Okay. Good.” She turned brusquely and began walking in the direction they had sent her in. She was walking when too late she realized one of those metal vehicles was about to hit her, she yelped and it screeched to a halt. Remi and the person inside started yelling at each other, Remi doing her best to remember the American insults she had learned. Someone ran over and then shouting, “Jeez! Are you okay?” It was that scared person who had given her directions. Remi sighed in annoyance and nodded. “Yeah, just new in town.”
1057 words





Weekly 2:

Part 1 based on this chain https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/studios/35430300/comments/#comments-264784750

“Bainbridge, get on up there and lower the mainsail!” Henshaw shouted to me. Knowing better than to test the man’s patience, (and plus the captain had already ordered for sails to be lowered) I quickly climbed up the rigging, undoing the ropes around the large canvas sail. Fingers which had once been marked with small impressions from rosary beads at the bidding of my adoptive father, were now covered in the cuts and calluses of a sailor and untying the rope was no longer such a struggle. With a small grunt of effort I finished lowering it when I heard someone shout above me. “Oy, you’ve a good pair of eyes. Come on now and take my spot up here boy.” Well this one I was eager to do. I climbed into the crow’s nest and reverently took the spyglass from Yaxley. His one rough and suntanned hand tousled my black hair. “There’s a good lad,” he said with a smile, before climbing down. Some days I feel as though I’ve lived so many lives. I don’t know what the first one was, because it ended when I was less than a year old, or so Mama had figured. Mama found me half drowned in a barrel of ale and nursed me back to health. She wasn’t the one that gave birth to me, but she became my mama, teaching me of the great heroes and naming me after one: Beowulf. She hid me for over seven years but then her husband found me. So high above the world right now, I can almost pretend that I never witnessed that fight. Never saw the madness in his eyes, the monster he became, the fury that his wife would ever disobey him and hide a Foundling. In this empty blue, I pray an angel will wipe away the blood on my hands and make it so I never k*lled that man. Had it been a normal death, had I stabbed him, or smashed a large rock over his head, I think I would have ended up in the noose for seven is old enough to know right from wrong. But his death had been some anomaly, some miracle if miracles could be used for wicked things, for when I pushed him away from Mama, he had simply vanished in a burst of light so quick he hadn’t even had a chance to look surprised. Father Bainbridge had heard about this, and asked for me to be spared. He said that God had called on him to teach me how to use my gift and he raised me from then on as his ward, renaming me James, a good holy name he had said. Of course, this… miracle, nor any others, never happened again. But now over a decade later, it was still something I wanted to escape and as soon as I could, I had found passage on a ship headed to America. We were there to bring supplies and commodities to Jamestown, but I was going to stay in America. This was a land that didn’t know me as a monster, didn’t try to make me be some great miracle worker. Something glinted in the water and squinted at it for just a moment before bringing the spyglass to my eye. It was then that I noticed the sea was completely still, or rather, the sea was still moving, but as far as my eyes could see (and Yaxley was right, they were very good eyes), the sea seemed to be covered in a sheet of glass. Then I fell, unable to scream and I crashed through the glass and into the ocean. It felt as though I was in a trance, and I wouldn’t even realize until later that I was breathing. And it became darker and darker and then I was there amongst the stars, but the stars were the shards of glass that I had just fallen through and I heard a choir of angels singing and felt something placed in my hand. I awoke with start in the crow’s nest, holding a silver sort of whip that glowed with some unearthly power, staring down at a huge sea serpent.
704 words

part 2 my blurb: It’s been 4 months and 10 days since Saint Alethvaard University was swallowed by a sinkhole, and everyone there was presumed dead, but today police received a distress call from a man claiming to be a student there. The things he tells them make them quickly dismiss the case, but one officer is his sister and she will chase down any lead to find her brother. And this takes her into the dark history of the university, its curse, and the grimoires of the ancient monk who built it. One thing will become certain: police should never have answered that call.
101 words


Silvi Brooks is on the run. She’s been framed for a crime she didn’t commit- stealing the queen’s fusestone- and now shadows are after her. She meets Sage, a supposedly kind woman who takes her in. But Sage seems to have a secret. Silvi decides to leave, where she learns that rogue shadows are still looking for her. If she wants to survive, she’ll have to find out what the shadows want- and who is controlling them. Prompt by @Natt519

Silvie wished the cloth she had stolen and wrapped around herself was not such a bright yellow, but noticeable color or not, it had completed her Zafyla disguise. It was suspicious for most people to hide their faces, but most of the Zafyla did it every day and were never questioned. She figured that this would allow her to get through this town unnoticed. She had thought foolishly. Silvie had been a market stand selling cookware, trying her best to negotiate with the woman there (and entirely thankful she was far too tall for her ten years and that the dress was designed in a way that one couldn’t tell she still had the chest of a child, though an adult voice was something she struggled to imitate. A man walked over to her, a guard, a Zafyla. She saw in his eyes that he was smiling and he spoke in Zafyla to her in a friendly tone, though she detected overconfidence as well that she had come to notice guards frequently had. Silvie cursed, wishing her mother hadn’t been so unabashedly xenophobic, beating her as a child if she ever even tried to play with a Zafyla. She blamed that now as her reason for stuttering, unable to understand what the man was saying. His eyes hardened like bits of obsidian, and his voice turned to heavily accented Hofenth as he drew his sword. “Whoever you are, drop the disguise now.” Not feeling at all sorry for the woman who had been trying to scam Silvie and take all of the money she had left, Silvie pushed the woman’s table into the guard and took off running. Of course angry shouts followed her immediately, but when she dropped the yellow cloth and ducked into a crowd she was a lot harder to find. At least for the humans. Trying to catch her breath while still walking to move with the crowd, she saw on the back of a woman’s jacket, one of her new stalkers. A Shadow. Her eyes widened and she quickly pushed her way out of the crowd. The shadow followed her, joined by at least a dozen others.
“Hey! That’s the girl the Queen is looking for!” A man shouted.
“Yeah! The one who stole her Fusestone.” Silvie should have realized coming here was a bad idea. Now she was being chased by the Shadows, some guards, and townsfolk trying to get on the guards’ good side and also more importantly get a reward for catching her, though she wasn’t sure what the price on her was now. And it didn’t matter that she had told them she didn’t steal the Fusestone and that there was now evidence for it either.
Out of nowhere, a hand clamped around her wrist. Silvie didn’t look to see who it was, though she could tell it was a woman, just began trying to pull away, while the woman said, “This way now,” in an urgent voice, not an authoritative voice.
“Let me go!” Silvie shouted.
“Come with me now, or the Shadows will k*ll you.

517 words

part 3

There she sits in my mind with a sorrow to be depicted, what is this here a page at the end of the sketchbook, simple gray strokes of a old note long forgotten at the top, a pencil turns over to rid the paper of the note, make room for the drawing it longs to hold, but the graphite only ever getting fainter, just fainter but still leaving its mark, flecks of pink from the erase cover the paper and scatter on the gray of the table cloth. Straight ahead there is a wooden wall, with a crucifix from a story unbelievable but a story of great meaning nonetheless. Somewhere deep in my head, I’ve often wondered how she felt knowing her baby boy would die like that. Softly drawing an egg-like shape here. This will be her head. No it’s too small, too low down, too far to the left, erase it, move it here and move it there and now here is a good place for it, but drawing without a reference is not easy. It’s just a simple sketch, her eyes look up and it’s clear she is asking why, but a crude attempt at tears welling in her eyes make the young mother look far older than her age and now here in some representation of arms, a blob that doesn’t really look like a toddler with wide eyes looking up at his mother, head tilted up, anatomically incorrect. Not the vision in the mind, but the first steps on the paper. And quickly I mark it with a hastily scrawled “draft” at the bottom and tell myself some day I’ll do it better

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part 4 based on a chunk of part 1 from “Some days I feel as though I’ve lived so many lives” to “ he hadn’t even had a chance to look surprised.”

translated: Sometimes I wish I lived longer. Even though I heard about it, my mother didn't know because she was a first-year manager. My mother died and she woke me up with a glass of wine. He didn't say, yesterday he told his mother and gave him a name: Beowulf. They hid me for seven years and found my husband. Now I can fight better than ever before in the world. Not seeing the anger on his face, he left without making his wife sad. This sage I ask the angels to spare my blood so that I do not kill anyone. They were stoned, you know what I mean, seven years ago. But his death was a miracle, when I took him back to see his mother, he lit the fire, not the paintings.


Laying in bed in the early morning, I heard a gentle knock. Yawning, I used my elbows to push myself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. “Come in,” I said in a tired voice. My mother opened the door and handed me a glass of dark red liquid before sitting at the foot of my bed. Being a ghost, it was hard for her to raise me, and hard to spend so much time with me, but never hug me as she had gotten to in life. The wine was a way the dead and the living had communed for millenia and so since she had died this had become our morning tradition. She drank from her glass and I drank from mine. But today I’m barely sipping at the wine. It isn’t the taste of it that bothers me, because I’ve become quite used to it, but I’m hesitant to open up my soul to her, because today I have a secret. I’m leaving the house today with the dragon egg I have hidden under the floorboards and getting as far away from here as possible. I can’t tell my mother about the dragon because she always was scared of them. And I can’t break what ghostly version of a heart she has by telling her that the time she has spent with me makes me feel the decay of time and makes death feel closer. Yesterday I was reading a book that said the living must be careful how often they communed with the dead, and now I knew for certain, that we were not meant to drink our wine together daily. And mother has kept me in this pocket world between my life and her death for seven years now.
As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the Master of Death called my mother back and I quickly dumped my wine out the window and pulled on the traveling clothes I had stored in the closet already and grabbed the few provisions I had packed last night. Before grabbing the egg though, I knew I still had to say goodbye. So I went to the shrine I kept for her at the western end of my home. I got on my hands and knees and touched my forehead to her stone, whispering my goodbyes and apologizing to her. Then I carefully removed a floorboard and took out the iridescent blue egg. The egg was smaller than I thought a dragon egg would be, not much larger than a goose egg. Carefully, I placed it in my pocket and left my home. The small gated yard around the house always felt like a blanket and a warm embrace, but now it feels as though it never wants to let me go. Seven years it had been since I left this place, but now finally this dragon egg had come as my key. Of course, seeds and such might have worked as ways to escape, if I ever tried hard enough, but I hadn’t actually wanted to leave. But once I had found this egg I had taken it as a sign. I had to get out of here and live my life. I was meant to be a warrior. I open the gate and a despairing, shrieking wail fills the sky. It grabs at me and tries to pull me back in. I grab the egg in my pocket and lift it high into the air, the hope of new life against the miserable clutches of death and it retreats and I make my way out through the gate, the world of the living quickly taking shape around me.
I blinked, taking in my surroundings, a sandy beach along a placid sea and hearty little wildflowers the color of wine. The dragon egg is gone and I searched frantically for it, for I had become quite attached to it since I became its guardian. But then I see the dragon hatchling, flying toward me on amber wings that seem too large for it and it lands on my shoulder with a gracefulness a newly hatched creature should not possess. When he lands on my shoulder, I know instantly that his name is Beowulf.

708 words

Daily 11:
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204 words

Procrastination Engine | 212 words

Swing by your local Ikea to snap up this wonderful contraption–a Procrastination Engine, which gives you a good excuse for waiting until the last minute to do tasks. The engine forces you into a state of inactivity, letting you do anything but the thing you're supposed to be doing. It's a wonderful way to kick back, relax, and ignore all of your responsibilities. Get your Procrastination Engine today, and enjoy the luxury of dilly-dallying.
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July 11

Have you ever been faced with the terrible situation of having a little over thirty minutes on the clock, an easy daily, and yet nothing written? Have you had to speedrun and turn in last minute dailies or weeklies?? Have you desperately checked your word count, trying to get up to the minimum to earn those sweet, sweet points for your cabin? SWCers, its time to tell it like it is: procrastination is the number one cause for missed or late dailies and weeklies. But procrastination is a difficult foe to beat, so save facing it for another day, and instead consider buying the Super Speedrunner 5000™!
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Have you ever felt the need to say something, but there are too many options? Like when you’re scrolling on Netflix all day just because there’s so many shows you want to watch someday, but too many to pick. Or when you have to respond to a tricky text message from your parents but there are so many ways it can go wrong, but only one right solution? Well you’ve come to the right place!

Here with the one-letter Keyboard, there is only one option! Whether it's a break-up or a business text asking for a raise, you’ll never have trouble knowing what to type, It all sounds the same! Now when you want to say, ‘I think this is for the best’ all that the other person sees is, ‘I IIIII IIII II III III IIII’ or ‘G GGGGG GG GGG GGG GGGG’ and it's not your fault, that’s all you can type! The best thing, this product has an unlimited warranty, so whenever all of the over 50 same letter keys break, you know even more of the same keys will be on the way! So come on down to Useless Products today, where now all you have to decide is which one letter will be the only thing you can express yourself with for the rest of your life!

(This is inspired by a weird combination of three very different things: a Google Translated beauty commercials video, that one SMBC comic about Pacman, and the two hours of Phasmophobia gameplay that I watched yesterday.)

Your sun has set. The darkness closes in. It all falls silent. You’ve left the domain of the quick, beating hearts and warm, solid bodies, never to return.
You may think this is the end.
But you don’t have to rest in peace just yet!
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Have you ever felt the need to say something, but there are too many options? Like when you’re scrolling on Netflix all day just because there’s so many shows you want to watch someday, but too many to pick. Or when you have to respond to a tricky text message from your parents but there are so many ways it can go wrong, but only one right solution? Well you’ve come to the right place!

Here with the one-letter Keyboard, there is only one option! Whether it's a break-up or a business text asking for a raise, you’ll never have trouble knowing what to type, It all sounds the same! Now when you want to say, ‘I think this is for the best’ all that the other person sees is, ‘I IIIII IIII II III III IIII’ or ‘G GGGGG GG GGG GGG GGGG’ and it's not your fault, that’s all you can type! The best thing, this product has an unlimited warranty, so whenever all of the over 50 same letter keys break, you know even more of the same keys will be on the way! So come on down to Useless Products today, where now all you have to decide is which one letter will be the only thing you can express yourself with for the rest of your life!

554 words

Soft, chiming, laughter flew through the air, carried by the wind floating into the open window as two children ran through the field chasing one another. The air was crisp as early summer approached the world sending gentle breezes and warm light across the earth feeding the roots. The two children were now on the ground, tackling each other down. They lay there, backs to the soil, their hearts pumping as their hand enclosed around each other staring up at the clouds as they journeyed around the globe collecting stories. Time passed and yet there they stayed, parallel lines, together against the universe.

Ceres and Aria. They had grown up together side by side, fighting battles together, always having each other's backs. They giggled, arms against each other, pointing at the clouds as the winds beat around them. Ceres plucked a periwinkle near her arm. The small purple flower had turned into something of a symbol for them since their first meeting. Only a few months old they both crawled toward the flower drawn to its bright color and as they reached for it they collapsed into each other, both too young and too weak to hold themselves up for long. Now they held it up above their head entranced by its bright eye, illuminated by the sun. They sighed and as they looked up they dreamed of this moment never ending. But like all moments, life moved on and forced everyone along with it.

—————————

Ceres bent over as tears filled her eyes and spilled onto the ground. She stared at the tall headstone as she shuddered, gasp after gasp until her body finally gave in and she collapsed to the ground. It had been ten years since they were just young children dancing through the fields with no fear of the world. Eight years since the war began and three years since Aria had enlisted. In a war with so many casualties, no letters were sent to the deceased families, there wasn’t enough postage for that in the world. It was a rarity to be buried but handmade headstones littered any open fields hoping to highlight the lost.

Ceres never got a letter when Aria’s battalion was obliterated. She knew nothing of it until weeks later when Aria’s sister found her and told her, she had been barely able to get the words out, too emotional to say anymore. So Ceres had to go on her own and find out the whole sad truth herself. It took her weeks just to travel back to her childhood home and even longer to find any information about Aria.

With no body to confirm Ceres hoped and dreamed that it was all a mistake and that she would stumble into Aria, alive and well, any day now. But there it was. Aria’s name engraved deep into stone. There was the proof. They didn’t bury the alive. Aria was gone and there was nothing Ceres could do.

Ceres stayed there for what must have been hours, her knees leaving imprints in the dirt, her eyes all dried out. With wobbly legs and little energy, she forced herself up, not letting herself look at Aria’s grave for another second. She stared out into the horizon, a field of flowers rolling on soft hills. Little purple flowers for Aria.

How many days had it been since he was imprisoned here? Kai had long since lost count. He had long since lost many things he wished no one would ever have to lose. His title, his family, his home, who he once was. Now everything that happened before the invasion were just trifles, insignificant yet dearly missed. He so desperately wished he could go back to studying for tests, getting embarrassed by his older sister, denying crushes he’d swear never to act upon. Anything but sitting alone in a dungeon, withered and yet still rotting. A harbinger of suffering, living only to soon die.

Soon, being when She was done using him. If only soon would come.

Now it was getting hard to remember what his life was once like. Of the whimsical streets, the smell of sweetbread wafting through the air. Of joy and music and laughter. He’d run through the halls of the castle he thought of as a second home. He’d get caught by his sister asleep in the forbidden library. She’d try to chastise him, warning of its danger, that it’s forbidden for a reason. She’d never stay mad for long. He would feign an apology and she’d let out a sigh of relief, flashing a dazzling smile. One Kai would never see again.

The memories have blurred together now, fractures that will soon dwindle until nothing but ashes remain. Even now, losing himself within them has gotten harder, the faces were hazy and the voices were muffled. What did his father sound like? What was the color of his mother’s eyes?

What Kai did remember is what his sister always said. “Hey, I know it’s tempting but make sure not to get lost in your mind or you’ll never want to leave!” She’d laugh, warm as the three suns. He’d snap out of his daydreams, drool all over the book or tome he was reading. Then he’d ask her, “And what's so wrong with that?” his voice dripping with sass.

“I’d miss you,” She would reply always and without fail. He wondered where she was now. If she really did miss him. If she was still alive.

He really wished she never said those words because now he’d remember them and wake up. Wake up to the stale soot-filled air. To cold metal bars and obsidian walls. To his own bony fingers, loose clothing barely covering the ribs jutting out of his pale skin. To silence, only interrupted by his thoughts and his weakly beating heart. To the compunctious feelings that he was to blame. That he was helping a monster. That he was a minion to someone who’s killed his family. His people.

He killed his people.

And still Kai was trapped, still he helped Her. This dungeon, this plight, this suffering. This was his retribution, as there was and will never be a way to atone. If it was his sister, she’d fight. Fists clenched, an aura of true mettle shining like starlight. She’d never let herself be controlled, she never would’ve given up. She’d be plotting some scheme to escape, somehow find a vantage point and never stop until she was free. She would've been long gone, maybe even started a rebellion, Kai surmised, it only made sense. She’s always been stronger than he was.

An air of cold signaled the end of his interim isolation. Kai didn’t even have to hear the harsh footsteps clashing against stone to know She was coming. Now he could sense Her, like a shadow always lurking, always watching, never seen. With all She had done to him, Kai wouldn’t be surprised if their souls were linked, like a dog chained to the owner’s leash. Her cold sneer was ingrained in his head. She wore the same one when She entered.

Pitch black hair spilled down Her shoulders, atop of it was a crown adorned with amethyst and red diamonds. Royalty and spilled blood. In Her hand was a chalice, murky liquid swirling within the cup, the same dark color as her eyes. They were devoid of light yet somehow Kai could see a faint flicker of wickedness within them. Perhaps it wasn’t even there, he just knew Her too well.

She stared down at him, a look that couldn’t even be described as disgust plastered on Her face. “You’re looking worse for wear. You still surprise me each time I come down here, even at your worst you manage to look even more pitiful.” She said bluntly. Kai spat at her feet.

Her face morphed into one of barely restrained fury and she grabbed him by the hair dragging him roughly against the bars. Despite this, her voice was deathly calm. “I’m tired of your ingratitude. Here you have shelter, I feed you, I sustain you!”

“You torture me!” He growled back, his voice sounding hoarse and alien coming from his lips.

“You could be dead.” She seethed.

“I wish I was.”

She let go of him and he collapsed to the ground. When he looked up at Her towering figure, all of Her being was melting, twisting and merging with the shadows that haunted him. From the abomination came laughter, low and cruel. “Don’t worry pet, you soon will be. You and all your kind, that’s why you’re here after all.”

She kneeled down and held the chalice out to him. It reeked of ash and iron, and his senses began to fog. “Now drink up, you must be parched, you poor creature.”

Kai knew he shouldn’t. It was a potion, a poison, a curse of some kind, he didn’t need to be prophetic to know that. And yet when she forced the cup into his mouth he guzzled it down hungrily, the excess liquid dribbling down his chin. Despite its vile appearance, it tasted sweet. Sickenly so.

Immediately, his vision blurred, the familiar feeling of helplessness overtaking his body. She simply watched him, her expression completely blank as he coughed and retched. Then She melted into the shadows and the darkness swallowed him whole.

Kai’s body stood up, but it wasn’t him. Like a puppet his voice laughed, his body phased through the bars, and his hands picked up the lone crown lying still on the ground and all he could do was play along. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was ironic wasn’t it? Just like his sister warned, he was truly lost within his mind, and each and every time it felt like a fate worse than death.

“I don’t like this anymore than you do,” She said with his voice, staring with a look of disdain at the reflection in the jewels, “If only your brain weren’t such a goldmine of forgotten spells and secrets, neither of us would have to go through this.” Then she put the crown on his head.

Despite the pure power she emitted in her own body, she struggled to move as him, needing to grasp onto the walls to stay standing. She grunted in frustration and Kai wished he could still smile, though, with her possessing him, he didn’t need to. She could feel the small triumph he felt at Her struggles. He could feel Her anger bubbling at his insolence. Their souls were linked after all.

“Let’s see if you're still laughing when your hands are coated with your dear sister’s blood.” She taunted. Kai went rigid.

He rasped, “How do you— My sister is—?” but his control left him as soon as it came.

“She’s been rebuilding I’ve heard, looking for you too. I wonder how overjoyed she’ll be when she sees you walk through the gates, broken but alive. Imagine the look of despair she’ll have when you destroy everything she’s worked for since your kingdom’s ruin.” She said this, but Kai had stopped listening.

His sister was alive. She was alive! He felt as if fireworks were going off in his mind, though the joy erupted into pure unadulterated rage. She was going to make him kill his own sister? The only person who kept him sane when he was stuck in the hell She put him through? The thought revolted him. Kai had committed unforgivable acts that had kept him up until his body shut down, but he’d die before he ever hurt her. That anger gave off a spark. A spark of power.

A spark of hope.

In all Her power, when She was in his body, She was weak. Starving, and thirsty and halfway dead. No matter how much She insulted and mocked him, Kai knew it was just a front to hide that She was vulnerable. He’d use that, just like She had used him.

Now, he could feel Her rummaging through his mind, no doubt looking for something to hold over him or a spell he never should’ve set his eyes on. He did his best to block his thoughts so she wouldn’t sense his plan, Kai only had one shot.

He took a hold of his rage, of the little power he had left, of all the magic he had ever learned and most importantly his hope. Just one shot. If this failed, he’d be out and at Her mercy. Just one shot, yet for once he wasn’t afraid.

“You’re awfully quiet, already grieving or have you given up completely?”

Before She could even attempt to fight back he took back control of his body. He could feel her surprise and the smallest hint of fear. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Kai laughed, “You should've killed me when you had the chance.” Then, his world exploded.

Kai woke up on the ground, in pain and exhausted but free. Next to him, the flickering transparent form of his tormentor laid and this time, he was able to smile. With difficulty he lifted himself up and realization hit him hard.

She wouldn’t stay down for long and in his state, he couldn’t kill Her. He had no clue where his sister was and still he’d have to escape the castle, overrun with guards who hated his kind as much as their Queen. Even if he escaped, he’d only have so much time before She woke up, found him again and eliminated him. Even with all these thoughts running through his mind, Kai found himself unconcerned.

He wouldn’t be able to kill her, not now and not for a long time, but he could be a stepping stone. Gears were already turning, a risky, near impossible plan forming in his head, but he had to try. It was all he had. She’d pay for all She had put him through. She’d pay for all the pain she had caused his friends, his family and his people, even if it meant his death. This was how he would atone.

But first, he had to play the part. Now it was him who picked up the crown. He’d be royalty. He would spill blood. He’d make everyone think their Queen was still possessing him, not unconscious in her own prison cell. It’d be easy pretending to be a ruthless killer when his hands were already stained with blood. They’re souls were linked after all.

And he wouldn’t give up until his chains were her downfall.

To start off, your prose is beautiful! It’s so poetic and stunning, especially the flashback.. The way you describe the field is so vivid and it not only allows me to envision it but feel the sort of nostalgia and peace the characters felt at the time as well. It also perfectly contrasts the next part of the story, making the reveal that Aria died hit even harder. It makes me thankful you don’t want me to focus on grammar because I can barely find anything to critique.

If I had to say something though, there’s one line in particular that reads a bit awkward to me. “Only a few months old they both crawled toward the flower drawn to its bright color and as they reached for it they collapsed into each other, both too young and too weak to hold themselves up for long.” I could just be me, but it took a few tries to read it right. I think “Only" was a bit of a weird way to start the sentence and just saying “At” before would fix it. And when you describe them collapsing, read a bit clunky. If I were to rewrite it, I’d probably say something like, “At only a few months old, the two crawled toward the flower, drawn in by its soft violet hue, collapsing into each other as they reached for it, too young and too weak to hold themselves up any longer.” Though this may just be me.

Other than your descriptions, the story is great too. You were able to do and say so much in so little words. The emotions are so raw and there are so many little things you did that worked perfectly and just add to the reading experience. For example, I loved how you counted down the years from ten to eight to three, it flowed so well. And the last sentence hit me in the feels like a truck.

On that note, I think you can push the emotions to make it more personal and heart-wrenching. This could easily be purposeful and if so, take my words with a grain of salt, but the story feels like an outside perspective. It shows so much of what Ceres did but not what she felt. Aria enlisted willingly, at least I’m assuming based on word-choice, so how did Ceres feel then? Was she supportive? Scared? Did she express her feelings at all, and if so are they different now? And that’s just one facet of it. Ceres could feel really strongly about the war itself, maybe she thought it was heroic and a necessity to be willing to die for a cause but now, having lost someone to it, she’s disturbed at how many more nameless headstones will have to be built for a meaningless war. There’s so much that can be explored through grief and war, like survivor’s guilt for one, it would really expand both their characters and make the final outcome impact the readers even more.

All in all, I want to reiterate that this piece is amazing, honestly, and trying to find what to critique felt like grasping for straws. These were just my thoughts so take them as you will, if you just keep doing what you already are, that’s good enough!

564 words

✬
I didn’t believe he’d ever be gone until he was. He was mortal - I’d known he couldn’t live forever from the start.

I’d known it from the start.
So why were there unfamiliar tears running down my tired cheeks, my tired face? He had lasted two nights of disease before he drew his last breath - the sickness had taken over him fast, and none of us had a cure. Hexes lived forever; we didn’t need an antidote. Only humans need antidotes.
And Hexes weren’t supposed to ever communicate with humans.

Still, I had welcomed him to our village with open arms. I’d been foolish, and now both him and I had to pay for it. There were reasons we were never meant to see humans, never even meet their eyes. I thought it was because we were scared of them.
I should’ve known it was humans that should’ve been scared of us.

When you’re immortal, sickness doesn’t affect you. But if you’re human, a disease caught from an immortal witch certainly does. I saw it as the life left his eyes, how he still smiled at me as his heartbeat felt flat.

‘I don’t blame you,’ he’d whispered. ‘I knew this could happen when I climbed over your fence.”
And then, he spoke the last words that ever passed his lips. Eight words that sent both stars and tears to my eyes.
Words that changed my world forever.

‘It was worth it. Worth it for you.’

✬

I know now that a part of my heart will love him forever. I will always long for a different ending to our chapter, but even Hexes cannot turn back time. We cannot turn back time and we cannot bring back the dead.
It seemed almost as if the gods were laughing at me, taunting me, dimming my powers to a meaningless glow. Hexes are raised to believe themselves the most powerful beings in our corner of the universe, but the two things I yearned for more than anything were impossible.
I tried everything to bring him back. Enchantments from the old witch in the woods I’d been warned from childhood to stay away from had no effect. Wearing a bracelet of ‘bewitched’ dried flowers did nothing but adorn my wrist. I knew I was powerless to meet him again, but it took me weeks - months - to fully believe it. Candles didn’t bring him back. Wishing didn’t bring him back. Praying didn’t bring him back.
I took comfort that he didn’t blame me entirely for his end, but it still felt like a dagger in my side every time I remembered that it was because of me. Because of my selfish longing for love that my first and last lover was gone.

Gone.
The word still tastes bitter on my tongue, even now. Over a hundred years later the words etched into his grave have faded, but the heartbroken witch he left behind is still right here. In the cottage now overgrown with vines where they once dreamed of a future together. In the kitchen where they danced around the wooden table, sitting at the chair he carved out of a felled oak just for her.

The pain still feels fresh, but it slowly dims. I remind myself that it is better to remember time spent fondly than to curse its brevity.
After all, Hexes live forever.

To start off, your prose is beautiful! It’s so poetic and stunning, especially the flashback.. The way you describe the field is so vivid and it not only allows me to envision it but feel the sort of nostalgia and peace the characters felt at the time as well. It also perfectly contrasts the next part of the story, making the reveal that Aria died hit even harder. It makes me thankful you don’t want me to focus on grammar because I can barely find anything to critique.

If I had to say something though, there’s one line in particular that reads a bit awkward to me. “Only a few months old they both crawled toward the flower drawn to its bright color and as they reached for it they collapsed into each other, both too young and too weak to hold themselves up for long.” I could just be me, but it took a few tries to read it right. I think “Only" was a bit of a weird way to start the sentence and just saying “At” before would fix it. And when you describe them collapsing, read a bit clunky. If I were to rewrite it, I’d probably say something like, “At only a few months old, the two crawled toward the flower, drawn in by its soft violet hue, collapsing into each other as they reached for it, too young and too weak to hold themselves up any longer.” Though this may just be me.


Other than your descriptions, the story is great too. You were able to do and say so much in so little words. The emotions are so raw and there are so many little things you did that worked perfectly and just add to the reading experience. For example, I loved how you counted down the years from ten to eight to three, it flowed so well. And the last sentence hit me in the feels like a truck.

On that note, I think you can push the emotions to make it more personal and heart-wrenching. This could easily be purposeful and if so, take my words with a grain of salt, but the story feels like an outside perspective. It shows so much of what Ceres did but not what she felt. Aria enlisted willingly, at least I’m assuming based on word-choice, so how did Ceres feel then? Was she supportive? Scared? Did she express her feelings at all, and if so are they different now? And that’s just one facet of it. Ceres could feel really strongly about the war itself, maybe she thought it was heroic and a necessity to be willing to die for a cause but now, having lost someone to it, she’s disturbed at how many more nameless headstones will have to be built for a meaningless war. There’s so much that can be explored through grief and war, like survivor’s guilt for one, it would really expand both their characters and make the final outcome impact the readers even more.

All in all, I want to reiterate that this piece is amazing, honestly, and trying to find what to critique felt like grasping for straws. These were just my thoughts so take them as you will, if you just keep doing what you already are, that’s good enough!

Daily 10

Anjani stepped carefully through the rubble, her face creased with lines of worry. An ominous creaking sound rumbled behind her.
“Ranji!” She cried out in alarm.
A small rusty robot tottered up to her. She had named him after the kind baker who always gave her a nice sticky bun in the morning.
“Ranji… is…having…problems.” They stuttered, their voice jittering.
“Oh, Ranji! Are you all right? Do you need h-help? Please don’t leave me!” She sobbed, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Ranji…needs…oil.”
Anjani smiled in relief.
“Come on. The moment I find us somewhere to rest, I’ll try to get you some oil. It can’t be too far.”
She stumbled along, the sun beating down on her smooth raven-black hair. It shone out, its waves catching the golden light. Her face was set in a stubborn frown, and yet her eyes were brimming with tears. She had never known what real fear felt like. It was like a dagger, plunged into her chest.
“It…will…be…alright.”
Ranji startled her, their unblinking metal eyes staring up at her insistently. It was so strange to think that a robot had feelings. All that hard cold metal. A metal brain, a metal voice, a metal heart. And yet they understood her pain and terror.
Something freezing clutched her arm, something that chilled her to the bone. She turned her head slowly, her lip wobbling.
“Ranji! You scared me.”
Their eyes were looking straight ahead.
“We…are almost…there.”
Anjani’s brow furrowed.
“Where, Ran?” She asked, her eyes glittering with curiosity and fear and hurt and a spark of happiness.
Suddenly, the little clockwork robot’s feet moved faster and faster, until they were just a speck on the horizon.
“Ranji! Ranji! Where are you going?”
Now the little speck had stopped moving. Anjani took a deep breath and ran.

The wind rushing past her ears.


Her heart beating at the speed of lightning.


Her breath going
In

Out



In

Out


Warm arms wrapped around her
A roaring fire
A smile like rainbows that faded away
And
Down



Down


Down

Till there was nothing left
Just the faintest memory
A glimpse of the past


A hope


A dream





A wish

“Grace!” Anjani screamed, her voice raw and wild. “Grace!”
She collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her face.
“Where are you?” She whispered shakily.
All of a sudden, Ran appeared by her side. She glanced to her side and smiled at him shakily through the waterfall of tears. He reached out a hand. She took it gratefully.
“Thank you, Ran.”
He gripped her tighter and started muttering.
“What are you saying?”
His eyes closed in concentration and his grip tightened, and tightened, and tightened until her knuckles were white as the sand back at home.
A strange feeling churned inside her and she struggled for breath. She noticed a distortion in the air beside them. It widened out to become a doorway almost. Through it she could see a sparkling aqua lake and pale ghostly sands surrounded by the crumbling ruins. Ran hurried forwards, pulling her with him. Everything went black for a moment, and all she could hear was the beating of her heart, and then everything stopped.

Anjani opened her eyes with a jolt, her body trembling.
“Grace?” She called in confusion.
Then she remembered everything. She was on a beach of shimmering white sand and Ran was standing beside her. She struggled to sit up and gazed at her surroundings. In front of her, rippling peaceful water, waving grasses surrounding her. In the middle of the lake, a swirling black hole.
“A…portal…to Grace.”
Anjani’s mouth fell open in awe.
“Grace is through there?”
He nodded mutely.
Anjani scooped up the little robot in her arms.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Then her expression wavered.
“Is it safe?”
Ran paused, his metal lips curving downwards.
“Portal…never been…used…before. Ranji scared.”
Anjani bit her lip. If Ran was scared then surely she shouldn’t do it? But… Grace was through there. She had to find her sister.
“Did Grace come through here?”
“Grace…came…through…portal.”
If Grace had done it, surely she could too? Grace might be in even more danger than her anyway. She had to find her and save her. It was her responsibility.
“Ranji can…teleport to…portal.”
“Then you can teleport to Grace?” Anjani exclaimed hopefully.
“Ranji cannot…teleport…to…past.”
Anjani sighed.
“Ok. Let’s do this.”
Ran put their arm around her and all of a sudden she was suspended in midair, the water below her frothing and steaming. She launched herself forward and tumbled into the endless abyss.

mykonos | critiquitaire | 328 words

I was born a hollow child in a hollowed out belly of a land:
youth but a masquerade ball for everyone but yourself,
angel darlings and devil kin. Play, a satanic ritual, the strange kind of thing
that fades with the ages.
Sand holds memories the same way sleep carries dreams,
nebulous inhuman human things. As they may be. The Mediterranean washes up on
the shores of our ancestries, back and forth,
back
and forth.
Seeds are sewn softly into soil,
like a quiet sort of victory, where the dawn hues turn
the ancient rivers into running rose fields. I seek the comeuppance of the
far long lost, and the penance self-chosen
by the duly responsible. The shadow on a soul will follow
regardless of the destination. It hangs over the sea foam where a nymph dissolves into the
deep unyielding blue.
Learning to become
a child of the sun
is only easy when your earth was born of his blood. Gold is
the deadliest color of life. In the stones that rise from the
sea churning and between the young trees, the ghosts of
millennia glow pallid. Toppled giants
and ossification. As they may be.
In the waters of the Aegean lie
a nebulous inhuman secret. I trace myself in lines and branches,
tree of life, lightning and owl. In the stones of Anatolia are
pieces of long faded families, bloodlines in the crevices of the Balkans, all drifting away
like flotsam in an olden ocean, like Cassandra
was only breathing the saltwater air all along. I breathe the same air
an eon and a million miles away.
I turn to history and philosophy
and the gaps between sand grains. In the belly of this ancient place
are nebulous inhuman human ghosts. As they may be.
I want to watch my skies turn to sunrise and the cobwebs of tombs glitter with dew.
An arrow deep in the dirt
bleeds out centuries of human turmoil.
Breathe.

for critique — flower daily, 6 july 2024

it tasted surprisingly of spring, the revenge i managed. i found in what i managed a newness of life unexpected. is that how others speak of it, too? or do they ponder most terribly on the outcomes of their lives, perhaps they worry on uncut threads, on others they left as they were once allowed to go on and seek in another day their payment for previous wrongdoings. trespasses, as they put in the lord's prayers. i forgive them not, but might all of ours be forgiven by the father.
i forgive not, for who is there left to remember if we all forgive?
the garden is in spring, too, when i return home. i do not hear the bees, i do not smell the roses and lilies, i do not see the bright array of colors laid before me, i do not feel the sun on my face, i do not smile. but i taste spring, as ever i have since that moment, scarce a week ago now but not faded a twinge. all my other senses dull in comparison.
a crash of fear sounds somewhere within me; is this how it is supposed to feel? am i meant to go on so changed? i listen not, even my own thoughts run without my listening.
so i taste spring, i neither hear nor smell nor see nor feel, not really, no smile rises not greet my mother and sister when, with tears, they beckon me through the door, but the taste remains ever on my tongue. i answer their questions absently, shallowly, distantly. i speak in synonyms and short agreements. i say nothing of depth. i have not looked in a mirror in months, for the last time i did i near lost my heart. their expressions say my face has changed greatly, my eyes are no longer what they were, my hair no longer handsome nor pretty nor anything near approaching passably stylish.
i suppose, at one time, i took great care for that.
i do not flinch away when my sister takes me by the shoulder and seats me in the kitchen. i do not blink when my mother follows and sets a kettle to boiling on the stove. i do not even breath as my sister—ola—begins combing through my hair, humming in her caring way. no, she was never caring. what makes her so now?
my mother says something, i assume not to me, and i sink into unfeeling. closed eyes, relaxed hands, i sit as my sister trims and braids my hair. i run my tongue over my teeth and behind, i stretch it back as far as it can into my soft palette. spring. all spring. but not all quite the same, different notes peek through in different regions. they combine strangely. i wonder, and i feel joy in the wondering, whether biting through my skin would find springs anew.
a sigh from my mother signals the joy must have appeared, somehow, in my figure. i am sure i did not smile. she knows nonetheless. she is speaking, now, and i must concentrate to understand the rivery words. my mother tongue no longer sings so sweet in my ear.
“—must drink it, i know not how i thought not before, ‘take yarrow in tea to soothe all love’s ills.'” i cannot catch the rest as now a hot mug placed in my hand occupies my concentration. i must open my eyes to stare down at the dull concoction. it tastes nothing of the yarrow teas i have taken, previously, as i down the whole mug in one swallow. something catches, more firmly on my waking mind now, and i speak apology to my mother. twice, for the first time is in a language she does not understand, and that caught thing worries on. my mother will call a healer, if i go on this way. or send ola to search for answers where she, and only she, would find secrets i never want my family sharing.
so i apologize many, many times this night, pleading exhaustion, unfamiliarity with customs i've not taken in many months, and personality deficiencies. that final reason brings me to recognize one of the flavors which so fill my mouth now. that nutty, near sunflower taste can be nothing but xanthium. rude, says that clutching thing, you are rude and so you taste of it. i heard, at least, but i have not the motivation to listen. i find my bed early tonight, and sleep soundly in spring until morning.
early morning dawns and i rise with it. my family has stirred already, in their so diminished numbers. fire demands to take hold of me; there is nothing to receive its command. i descend the stairs silently. ola whispers furiously with our mother by the hearth. i pay no heed, until she says the name—my name—and i understand i am the subject of her so secret, so terrible thoughts.
“you must—mother, please, listen, he came home with foxglove sprouted in his hair—what if someone had seen? what if another traveler did notice, and alerted authorities who already have a bounty on his head?”
i do not hear my own words, i do not hear whatever response was on my mother's lips before i interrupt, i do not hear—i cannot have sprouted foxglove. whatever seed of treachery planted with my father's—no, that was buried so far within—
i thought spring was safe. i did not see the creeping thorns.