Please get your stories in by the end of tomorrow! You can still technically submit stories after tomorrow, but it would be preferred if you did not. Once your partner's story is submitted, artists, you can begin working on your drawing. Submit your finished drawing by the end of the 27th, please.

Hey, I was just wondering how you were doing with your story, I'm excited to see it!

Ok, here's my story! It's a little bit over the word count but only by a few words. 

~

Miriam’s mother loved to sing. She sang the dishes clean and stirred melodies into bowls of stew. Her voice was not refined as it had not been sculpted by lessons. It was filled with pure emotion and a bit out of tune. It was beautiful. 

Miriam disagreed. “Stop!” she screeched, stabbing the harmony. “Do not sing! Your voice is too scratchy, too unprofessional and too grating on my soul!”

Miriam’s mother only laughed, hiding the pain behind the creases of her face. 

“No!” Miriam said, and so eventually the house was quieter and the stew was a bit bland. 

And yet, Miriam had a secret. She liked to sing. She hummed as she poured over schoolwork and danced to hidden operas in the early chords of the morning. When she was the only one home, she would sing, lifting her voice to the rafters and sliding it down to the wooden planks. But Miriam’s voice was raw and she was ashamed of it. 

When Miriam was old enough, she joined a choir. Her mother raised an eyebrow but her lips stayed pursed. Miriam loved the songs that the choir sang, but she was scared. Her voice fell flat and the notes taunted her from the crisp white sheets. She left the choir with regrets still in her throat. 

Miriam dreamed of joining the theater. Of twirling and swirling on the stage. Her stomach clenched to stand in the lights and her mind reminded her that her singing was broken. She cried a bit about it one afternoon before going to the kitchen to tell her mother to be silent, to step out of a rare bout of song. 

Miriam moved away to the city, to a cramped apartment. She was alone but she did not sing. She was no longer young enough to dream. She nabbed an office job and heard autotune scream through the radios and her ears bled in pre-packaged stews.

“Mom?” she called on the phone one chilly evening. “Do you ever sing now that I am gone?”

Miriam could hear her mother’s frown through the distance and knew that it was a habit broken by time. 

“I love you.” her mother said. Miriam echoed the words, hanging up. The silence around her was thick and she stumbled, falling to the itchy rug. 

It felt good to let wet warm tears slip on her cheeks. Heavy air pressed on her chest, coaxing harsh breaths that tasted of cracking dreams out in the world. 

A few months later, Miriam took a taxi to the train station. Her head bounced on the windows as the reflections played like a skipping record. She walked through the weeds to her parent’s house with its crumbling red roof. Vines embraced the white stucco walls and the flower garden laughed with a thousand tongues. Her father stumbled out of the arched door frame and stared through red-rimmed eyes. 

“Miri...your mother...she” his voice cracked into a million different pieces, leaving a sobbing mess. The shards pierced Miriam’s heart and she tripped into his arms. 

“Dad? What…” she swallowed her hope. “Where is she?”

He took taut moments to compose his face, holding his tears.“Your mother had a… a heart attack. She’s in the hospital.” 

Miriam cried out as fear raced through her body. It split through her soul and broke into her mind. The fear stomped in her stomach as her father drove her to the hospital. 

Her mother lay in a hospital bed hooked up to machines. Their flashing lights made the sterile white floors into a disco ball and the beeping ricocheted over the window blinds.

Miriam was at her side in an instant, clasping their hands together. Her fingernails were cut raw and bleeding. “Oh, mom…” She said through a waterfall of tears. 

Her mother smiled faintly, tracing the wrinkles across her face. “Miriam..” Her voice was soft and rough, polished by hope. “I love you so much, sweetie…” She broke off in a fit of coughing. 

“Mom?” Miriam's breath was a battle between uncertainty and desperation. She continued in a run. “Mom.. do you remember that lullaby that you used to sing me?” 

“Of course I do.”

“Could you sing it? Please.” 

“Miri is asking me to sing? I never thought that this day would come.” 

Miriam laughed a little, tears falling into her dimples and her mother grinned in harmony. 

“I will.” Her mother said, now solemn. She cleared her throat and began. 

“Little birds yearning to fly,

Shiny birds reaching for the sky,

Sticks and stones to build a nest

A place to let your soul rest

Have you yet learned to sing with sounds

Little bird, come visit my garden in the clouds.” 

Miriam joined her for the final verses, and it was the first time that her mother had ever heard her sing. Their voices clasped together, flowing as currents joined by one river. And their tears flowed as an avalanche once more, dewdrops on their cheeks. 

And then it ended, and machines grew fainter.

“I love you.” Miriam rose to her feet, stroking her mother’s hair one last time before stepping quietly out of the room. Her mother echoed the words through tired eyelids. 

Her father sat silent in the dark waiting room. She slid into the chair beside him and covered her eyes with her hands. Their breaths were falling drums, echoing off the caves in their hearts. 

Her mother’s funeral was a few days later. It was a somber ceremony in a children’s church. Black and white with an accent of an old organ. Miriam stood, a stone sinking in the water. 

She nodded at the service and was only present when it ended and the guests mingled with each other, holding glasses of grief. 

Miriam slipped out the back door, walking through the weed-ridden passage that opened to a meadow with a few of the setting sun. She ripped her black cardigan off, leaving a white dress that was soft on her skin. 

The wildflowers swayed against her feet, smiling with red and blue and yellow teeth. 

Miriam tilted her head to the sky and opened her lips. Her voice leaped out her mouth, soaring high with the birds. The stars appeared and shined as notes on the music sheet of the universe. 

Her voice was rough and pure, salty from her tears and raw. Her voice was a rainbow of shapes, the sound of freedom. It was raw like a garden in the clouds and it was her.   

Miriam sang to her mother on the steps of the world because they loved to sing.

Ok!!! I finished it!!! Here's my story: (yes it's over 1000 words sorry.) 

THE APARTMENT NEXT DOOR

The apartment next door is full of mystery, moments, and memories. Some good, some bad, but never what you expect. 

I should know-I met my soulmate there. 

I was a 23 year old guy with messy blond hair and brown eyes in my senior year of college, studying for a communications major in Journalism. I had lived in the same apartment room for a couple of years, but never with the same roommates. However, the apartment next door frequently got new occupants. The wall between my apartment and theirs was very thin, so I often heard all the conversations within. 

I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but listening to the conversations and happenings next door quickly became a habit. Some even became a highlight of my college years there. 

Freshman year I heard the conversations of a newly wedded couple planning their next few years together. 

Sophomore year, a different family moved in. There, I heard the cries of a newborn babe and the relieved sighs of its parents. 

Junior year was hard, both for me and the woman who moved in next door. 

I could hear her nightly sobs after a bad breakup with her boyfriend. She moved away the following summer. 

Through these few years, I heard all kinds of sounds. Sobs, laughter, shrieks, etc. I never met the people who lived in the apartment next door because I was so shy, but I always felt connected to them. When they rejoiced, I rejoiced. When they cried, I cried with them. All from behind a wall. 

Beginning of senior year, the apartment next door was left vacant for quite some time. I began to lose interest in what could happen behind our shared wall, and instead focused on my college studies. 

During this year, playing piano not only became a habit for me, but also an escape. I had taken lessons as a kid, but it wasn’t until recently I started playing again. 

Often, on my most difficult days, I would turn to the piano for solace, losing my worries and thoughts to the music. 

It was on one of these difficult days as I played “river flows in you” that I heard a timid knock at the door. 

I was confused. I wasn’t expecting anyone over, and the few friends I had lived miles away from campus. 

I grew even more confused when I opened the door and found…. nothing. Nothing that was, except a purple posty note stuck to the door which read: 

“Hi! I’m your neighbor in the apartment next door; I moved in a few weeks ago. I’ve been listening to your piano playing and I absolutely LOVE it. Your piano playing has become a highlight of my day. :) Thank you for your talent!

P.S. Can you please play Reflection from Disney’s Mulan? It’s my favorite. :)”

After I read the note, I was shocked. But I was also quite excited. 

I had a new neighbor! She, or he, must have been super quiet because I hadn’t heard any noise from next door. That, or I had just been too engrossed in my studies to ever hope for a new neighbor. The note was not signed, but I didn’t mind. 

The following week, true to my neighbor’s request, I played Reflection at the same time the post-it note was placed on my door. 

The next day, another unsigned note showed up. This time, it was blue. It read: 

“Thank you SO MUCH for playing my favorite song!! You have no idea how much that means to me. P.S. I play a bit of piano too, and brought my piano to the apartment with me. Do you maybe want to duet sometime?” 

My heart raced. She, or he, liked my music! My music, that was an escape for me, was something that connected both of us.  

Hurriedly, I scribbled a reply on a different post-it note to stick on their door. 

“I would love to duet with you! Any requests?”

A pink post-it note showed up soon after. 

“Great! Next Saturday at 3 PM? Go the distance from Hercules? I’ll start playing-when I stop playing, that's when you start.” 

My post-it note answer couldn't have been written fast enough. “Sounds perfect.” 

The next Saturday, we dueted “Go the Distance” together, and continued to play this way for weeks-playing all sorts of Disney songs among others such as “My Heart goes on,” “Hallelujah,” “Clocks” etc. We also continued to communicate through post-it notes, and through this way of communicating I found out all sorts of different facts about my neighbor: we both enjoyed Disney, liked hiking, and we were both college seniors. 

We had never met face to face (yet) but through music, I felt connected to my neighbor more than ever before.

One Saturday, I felt particularly impressed to play “All of Me” by John Legend. Without any previous planning, I began playing the song. This time, I didn’t pause to let my neighbor play-rather, I just let the music flow. 

When I finished playing, I heard muffled sobs. Then silence. 

I grew worried. Had I offended my new neighbor with my song choice? Did I hurt their feelings because I hadn’t let them duet with me? 

I waited for another post-it note to show up on my door as so often it did after we played with another song request, but instead, I heard a knock at the door. 

When I opened it, there stood a young girl, with tears streaming down her face. She was tall but skinny with dark hair and bright beautiful blue eyes. With a slight french accent, she whispered “how did you know?” 

“W-what?”

“How did you know what song to play? How did you know that I needed that song?”

My eyes widened. This young girl standing in front of me, she was my next door neighbor?

“W-won’t you come in?” I stammered, gesturing to the couch in my appartment’s living room. The girl nodded, before stepping over the doorway and promptly sitting down on the nearest sofa. 

Still bewildered, I closed the door before sitting down to the girl, who gulped, and then spoke. 

“My name is Emily, and as you probably figured, I’m your next door neighbor.” 

Glancing at me, I nodded at her to continue speaking. 

“Mon Maman, Hazel, and I emigrated from France to America last year, hoping to give ourselves a better opportunity in America and myself a better advantage in the college here. However, when we arrived, Maman started not feeling well. We thought it was nothing, but it lasted for a long time. She was always fatigued, and when we took some tests…. Maman found out she had cancer.” She gulped again before continuing. “Maman tried making the best of the situation, but…. she kept getting weaker. And the cancer finally became too much for her body. She passed away last year. I miss her so much.” The tears streamed down her cheeks again. 

“That song you played today? It was mon Maman’s favorite.” 

The tears flowed freely as she sat there crying. When I extended my arms to her for a hug, she didn’t resist. 

That was the first time I met Emily face to face, though it wasn’t the last. 

Through our senior year, we continued to duet songs, and hung out together more and more. Overtime, our friendship grew from ‘just friends’, to casual dating, to serious dating. 

The day before graduation was our last duet together. It was my turn to request a song, to which I requested Pachabel’s Canon. When I heard Emily begin playing, I took the ring I had prepared for this moment out of my pocket, waited until she stopped playing, knocked on her door, and proposed to her. 

“Yes!” 

Things quickly picked up speed after my proposal. We both moved out of our apartments after graduation, however, Emily decided to leave her piano hoping that another student would play it connecting them to a friend. 

Years later, I walked by my old apartment window, where I heard soft piano music playing from the apartment next door. I wondered if it was Emily’s piano. I wondered if that person was having a similar experience to mine with Emily and the apartment next door. I didn't know. 

All I knew was that the apartment next door was full of mystery, moments, and memories. Some good, some bad, but never what you expect. Certainly not what I expected, because that is where I met my soul-mate, Emily.

For reference, this was during 1700s-ish. Honestly, I just wrote the first sentence and made it up as I went XD It’s a little over 1000 words, sorry~

~~

The cobblestones are slick with the afternoon rain, puddles gathering in the cracks and dips in the neglected street. It had stormed all day, but now the sky was clear and stars swirled up above in their own distant dance. My bare feet step lightly across the ground, almost numb from the cold emanating from the stone, but I suffer through it knowing being barefoot will silence my footfall rather than the clicking of boots meeting pavement. Well, that and I can’t afford shoes.

I cast my eyesight upwards. My target looms in front of me, an estate carved of pale stone, very out of place with its soaring rafters and sprawling grounds in this rough neighborhood. It looks easy enough to break into- at least, for an experienced thief such as myself.

I slip silently through the darkness, approaching the massive front gates tightly woven of iron. The chattering of careless guards comes from a safe distance, so no one hears me when I haul myself to the top of the gate and leap to the ground on the other side. With practiced precision, I dart through the extensive gardens silently, scanning the high walls of the estate’s main building. The windows on the ground floor are flickering with candlelight, as expected, but the windows above are dark and bolted shut with advanced locks and metal grates. My gaze slides to a spiral tower jutting from the far right of the estate. A smile tugs at my lips when I see the unbolted window cracked open at the top. 

I make it to the bottom of the wall, right below the tower, and taking a deep breath, I begin to scale the cold stone. It’s tedious work- the rocks are still slippery from the rain- but it’s not unfamiliar, and my dark clothing should help me blend in with the darkness.

Finally, out of breath, I reach the ledge beneath the opening. I shove the window open and land firmly on both feet inside, tired but smiling.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” a voice says from behind me. I whip around in shock to see a young woman with strawberry blonde hair, perched on the edge of a giant canopy bed and calmly guiding a needle and thread through a piece of cream colored cloth by the light of a single wavering candle. By instinct, I back up and grasp for my pocket knife, searching the darkness for guards. My mind hardly registers the room: an expensive but dusty bedroom wreathed in shadows.

The girl laughs, glancing up from her embroidery for the first time since my entering. “Don’t worry. I’m all alone up here.” She’s remarkably calm. She clearly lives here at the estate, judging from how much her outfit costs. “My name is Caterina. Caterina Smith.” She looks at me like she’s expecting an introduction. My mouth stays shut. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I force myself to talk, glad that my voice doesn’t shake. “You’re alone?”

“Yes.” She smiles sadly. “No one visits anymore.”

“You gonna turn me in?” It wouldn’t be hard for her. All she has to do is yell for the guards; even if I manage to knock her out she’d still give my description to the authorities and they’d know I was here. Unless I kill her, which I refuse to.

Caterina thinks for a second. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, slowly backing up to the window. I figure she’ll be glad to see a thief like me gone, but instead she calls out softly for me to wait. I turn to her hesitantly.

“Go to the chest on the far side of the room,” she instructs. She must have seen the distrust in my eyes, so she added, “It’s not a trap, I promise.”

After another moment of unsteady hesitation, I remove my hand from the windowsill and quickly walk across the room, never taking my eyes off her. I pause in front of the wooden chest and, after instinctively checking it for tripwires, click the latches open and push the top up to reveal the insides. 

I gasp as the contents seem to shimmer in the dim light. Gold and silver, goblets, necklaces, rings, studded with jewels and gilded with ornate patterns. The faint candlelight seems to mingle and catch on the riches. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve already picked up a beautiful white-and-gold handcrafted necklace.

“You can keep that, if you want,” Caterina tells me from the other side of the room. I glance over at her; she’s smiling. 

I pocket the necklace immediately. I know after years on the street that you don’t take things like this for granted, and this necklace could feed me for months. I hesitate, then ask her, “Why?”

“You need it more than I do,” she responds. “It’s not like I’ve much use for treasures up here, by myself.”

The loneliness in her eyes is reminiscent of the same look that I see every time I look in a mirror. I echo her melancholy smile and dip my head to her in thanks before striding quietly to the windowsill. I turn to her one last time; her hair shines like amber in the light.

“Here,” I say, hands moving to my wrist and unclasping my bracelet. It’s an old, rusted thing, probably a knockoff of some precious metal. It glints dully in the light as I toss it across the room to Caterina. She catches it with one hand, blinking in surprise. “Take this, in exchange for what you gave me. I know it’s nothing fancy, but it’s all I have.” I pause. “My mother gave it to me.” I can still feel my mother’s hands holding mine, guiding me, her voice lilting like a songbird’s.

Her fingers close around the bracelet gently. “I would be honored. Thank you.”

I nod one last time and swing myself over the edge of the window to begin the descent down. It’s much harder than climbing up, but eventually I reach the ground, breathing heavily. The gold necklace seems to hum in my pocket as a reminder of what just happened. As I take off across the garden-laced grounds to the iron gate that I entered from, I grin. After all, it’s not often that I break into a place to steal and am given treasure.

Suddenly, something catches on my foot and I tumble down to the soft ground. I twist around to see what tripped me, only to freeze in ice-cold shock.

It’s a headstone for a grave, simple and half covered in moss. There’s a name carved there, and though it’s faded, I can still read it:

Here lies Caterina Smith.

No. Impossible, it’s impossible-

Sitting at the foot of the headstone, shining in the dancing starlight, is my rusted, metal bracelet.

~~

Thanks for waiting so long @Azalea, I'm sorry if it’s not up to your standards (everyone on the CB is such a good writer! {also im a pretty insecure writer lol}). Idk why it turned horror-esque at the end there, let me know what you think and if you want me to change anything!

Alright, here's my story! I'm sorry it's so short, but I've been having awful writers block this week. It has been super fun to read everyone else's stories!

Jude closed her honey brown eyes just for a moment, letting the whisper of rushing water seep into her mind. She breathed in the fresh air that was never found in the loud, bustling city where she lived. The sweet scent of lemons hung in the air, filling Jude's freckled nose. She wished she could catch this moment in a jar like she did the fireflies that visited her home each summer. With a quiet sigh, Jude opened her eyes again before her grandma had seen her close them, and focused her gaze on the pellucid water that housed the little, brightly colored fish. This river was pure snowmelt, having traveled from the ancient mountains that marched around her grandmother's tiny village. The canoe swayed ever so slightly, sending little ripples through the water. Jude reached her hand out towards the crystal clear river, her fingers just barely skimming the surface. The water was cold, so cold that a numb feeling danced up her hand. Jude didn't mind; she welcomed the cool, fresh water here. The muddy river that twisted through her city had a strange lukewarm feel to it. The feel of polluted water that spent its time cooking under the fiery sun. Jude shuddered thinking about it.  

“Jude, are you paying attention?” her grandmother asked in her slightly accented English.

“Sorry, grandmother, I lost my focus.”

“Ah, it is alright. I know you are quite the daydreamer, my Jude,” she replied with a smile. Jude’s grandmother plunged the oar into the water and out again over and over, without fail, rarely pausing. Jude hoped to be as good a rower as her someday. Their canoe glided past a patch of lily pads, and Jude watched as a little frog leaped into the river, startled by their sudden appearance, splashing little drops of water into the air.

“Grandma?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Has our family always been rowers?”

“Not always, my dear, but for a very long time. Remember that, Jude. We cannot lose such an important tradition! You must teach this art to your grandchildren, as your mother will teach it to your kids.”

“I will remember, Grandma. I promise.”

“Good girl! Now, would you like to row for a bit?”

“Yes!” Jude’s grandmother pulled the wooden oar out of the water and handed it to her eager granddaughter. The pale wood was perfectly smooth, and Jude’s hands fit around it nicely, her fingers falling into the slight imprints that had been formed over the years from the tight grips of her ancestors. Jude stuck it in the water and pushed it backward, following her many memories of watching her mother and grandmother. The water parted for it,  impatiently filling the space when it left. It wasn’t easy, but Jude wasn’t a quitter and never had been. She rowed down the river, following any suggestions that her grandmother offered her. Slowly but surely Jude began to get the hang of it, and she smoothly guided the canoe through the water. It would take years for Jude to become a master at the art, like her grandmother, but this was a good start. Jude smiled, and she could have sworn that she saw the reflections of her ancestors smiling back at her in the crystal clear water. 

This is kitty btw

Just wanted to let you know I finished my story draft and will be posting it along with Ferocious Dragon's picture on the 27.

Thanks for starting this! 

Ok so I have a sketch but it isn't quite how I'd imagined...the girl at the top is supposed to be Caterina, like popping out of the grave as a ghost? And I wasn't sure what gender the mc is supposed to be so I made them fairly androgynous. Sorry that it isn't exactly accurate to the scene, and lmk if anything should be changed. Also it looks a lot like Starseeker's style for some reason, which was not purposeful.