★☆Star's Writing Challenges★☆

[abbie-sama]

Aw, really? Thank you! :3

[tide.]

Username: tide.

Nickname(s): tide

Entry to Current Challenge:

Everything is silent. It has been and always will be. The infinite void of space, which cascades through time and contains each and every one of us, has always been silent. It is huge, bright, and silent. Uninhabitable in most cases. Every sound has been suppressed, kept to its home and banned from the stars. Each star has a home, a place to call its own. Each lives in a solar system within a star system inside a galaxy, among the hundreds of billions of others and yet we all know each other’s names. It’s all one big brilliant mistake, and it’s so disorganized that it has become simple to understand. From the moment we’re born, the enormity and the scale of the universe have been known to us. We shine in the night because we must, because that is what we are born to do; to light the night and burn away fear. And we like it. For millennia, we live our puny lives in this massive, fantastic place, shining for those on earth. Yes, they have tried to find others. But they are alone. The inhabitants of the blue marble are completely and utterly alone in this silent universe. They’ve sent people out to the atmosphere, into space, and onto their moon. And now they’ve made it to another one of the planets in their solar system. Yes, the “final frontier” as they call it seems to be the one thing which they never grow tired of. There’s always more, they say; and this is true. There’s more out there than even the stars can tell. There are an infinite number of stories untold, songs unsung, and lives to be lived. I think that all of the stars look at earth and favor it above all the other wonders this universe has to offer. It breathes life and curiosity into an otherwise quiet and dead world.

Other: nope.

[ alright, I got it done. sorry it's so short, but it meets the criteria and I was happy with it, so... x3 good luck everyone! ]

[Rebel Faery]

Username: tide.

Nickname(s): tide

Entry to Current Challenge:

Everything is silent. It has been and always will be. The infinite void of space, which cascades through time and contains each and every one of us, has always been silent. It is huge, bright, and silent. Uninhabitable in most cases. Every sound has been suppressed, kept to its home and banned from the stars. Each star has a home, a place to call its own. Each lives in a solar system within a star system inside a galaxy, among the hundreds of billions of others and yet we all know each other’s names. It’s all one big brilliant mistake, and it’s so disorganized that it has become simple to understand. From the moment we’re born, the enormity and the scale of the universe have been known to us. We shine in the night because we must, because that is what we are born to do; to light the night and burn away fear. And we like it. For millennia, we live our puny lives in this massive, fantastic place, shining for those on earth. Yes, they have tried to find others. But they are alone. The inhabitants of the blue marble are completely and utterly alone in this silent universe. They’ve sent people out to the atmosphere, into space, and onto their moon. And now they’ve made it to another one of the planets in their solar system. Yes, the “final frontier” as they call it seems to be the one thing which they never grow tired of. There’s always more, they say; and this is true. There’s more out there than even the stars can tell. There are an infinite number of stories untold, songs unsung, and lives to be lived. I think that all of the stars look at earth and favor it above all the other wonders this universe has to offer. It breathes life and curiosity into an otherwise quiet and dead world.

Other: nope.

[ alright, I got it done. sorry it's so short, but it meets the criteria and I was happy with it, so... x3 good luck everyone! ]

Thanks for your entry! The rest of you who haven't yet submitted have till the end of January.

[indebted]

It’s beautifully bright light. It almost blinds me, but not quite, and I know exactly what specimen this is. This comet is a dream comet. Ironically I’ve dreamed about exactly this type of comet, and it is with enthusiasm lighting up my face in the black and darkness all around me that I lead the net to the comet, waving it about like some kind of rabid dog. But I am not a rabid dog, and my attempts are not futile. A blue light sparkles in the air, and the hunk of rock—although I don’t think dream comets are quite the same—speeds toward Earth, and I follow it, perhaps screaming, perhaps crying. That is the only dream comet I’ve ever seen, and I don’t even know where it landed.

I wonder how I knew it was a dream comet if I had never seen one before. Well, I had, but only in my dreams. I had ever even dared to think that I could see such a fantastical beauty. The stars shine brighter, fiercely honoring their friend who has fallen to the Earth and entertained so many. The sun is rising again, and the twinkling spheres of fire fade almost completely. It hurts a little to let them go. But now the sun, the closest star to me, is rising above the mountaintops. I dart higher into the mountains, maybe wanting to say goodbye to the comet and the stars.

The next night the stars shine even more beautiful than before, if that’s possible. Fireworks explode in front of my five year old eyes, and I sweep a strand of hair from my face. My hand distracted me, and my connection to the stars is lost. My hands drop into my lap, and the stars fade dully into their midnight blue background of the sky, seemingly defeated. I scream, but they are not coming back. I failed them, and I openly admit this as I sob into my hands. I was so little, so innocent, like a blooming flower bud, and yet I was so deep and sentimental. I knew I had lost a part of me forever. I should not have disturbed the stars.

And now I see the sun, that disastrous star, flaming beacon that ruins my world. My world of darkness. I am allergic to sun particles, and the darkness is my haven. But you would not understand, because being allergic to the sun is a rare case. So I forget about that beautiful, streaking comet of starlight and I enter my home once again, climb in the covers, and squeeze my eyes shut. Here is nothing more for me to see. The darkness is my haven.

Done!

[Rebel Faery]

It’s beautifully bright light. It almost blinds me, but not quite, and I know exactly what specimen this is. This comet is a dream comet. Ironically I’ve dreamed about exactly this type of comet, and it is with enthusiasm lighting up my face in the black and darkness all around me that I lead the net to the comet, waving it about like some kind of rabid dog. But I am not a rabid dog, and my attempts are not futile. A blue light sparkles in the air, and the hunk of rock—although I don’t think dream comets are quite the same—speeds toward Earth, and I follow it, perhaps screaming, perhaps crying. That is the only dream comet I’ve ever seen, and I don’t even know where it landed.

I wonder how I knew it was a dream comet if I had never seen one before. Well, I had, but only in my dreams. I had ever even dared to think that I could see such a fantastical beauty. The stars shine brighter, fiercely honoring their friend who has fallen to the Earth and entertained so many. The sun is rising again, and the twinkling spheres of fire fade almost completely. It hurts a little to let them go. But now the sun, the closest star to me, is rising above the mountaintops. I dart higher into the mountains, maybe wanting to say goodbye to the comet and the stars.

The next night the stars shine even more beautiful than before, if that’s possible. Fireworks explode in front of my five year old eyes, and I sweep a strand of hair from my face. My hand distracted me, and my connection to the stars is lost. My hands drop into my lap, and the stars fade dully into their midnight blue background of the sky, seemingly defeated. I scream, but they are not coming back. I failed them, and I openly admit this as I sob into my hands. I was so little, so innocent, like a blooming flower bud, and yet I was so deep and sentimental. I knew I had lost a part of me forever. I should not have disturbed the stars.

And now I see the sun, that disastrous star, flaming beacon that ruins my world. My world of darkness. I am allergic to sun particles, and the darkness is my haven. But you would not understand, because being allergic to the sun is a rare case. So I forget about that beautiful, streaking comet of starlight and I enter my home once again, climb in the covers, and squeeze my eyes shut. Here is nothing more for me to see. The darkness is my haven.

Done!

Wow... it's beautiful! Thanks for your entry!



Seven days left for the rest of you to enter!

[abbie-sama]

Good luck, everyone! <3

[Rebel Faery]

Only three of you entered, which is a bit disappointing. But now for your scores!

First Place;

The beauty of a darkened world; it’s comforting. It’s the most comforting thing ever. Mind you, I guess you don’t know how it feels, how it feels to be gently suspended by the dark hands of night. And yet, you may think that it’s black, that it’s drab or sad, but it’s never sad, and it’s never black. It’s another cycle, another time, another part of life. Oh yes, many of you may sleep through it, but the night’s beauty is something to be seen. It’s something to be relished, something to be enjoyed, something to be watched. I should know, and I do. Yes, I do know most of it, because I’m a star. But I don’t see it all, even though I want to. I have a life, right here, watching over you, but I do have dreams.

My dream is to sit beside the moon, not be a part of just any constellation, but be right beside the moon. It’s a beauty, the moon. It gets a short part of the day sometimes, and sometimes it gets a larger part, but the cycle keeps it from staying forever. That saddens me greatly. The beauty of nighttime is something to be enjoyed, and yet you don’t understand. You don’t understand our sadness when we see you sleep through our time. We just have to get used to it, the other stars nearby tell me. And then you awaken when that sun, that monstrous ball of flames roars into the sky and brightens it. Doesn’t it hurt your eyes? And you can’t even look at it. You can’t see it. You can’t study it, at least not easily. Not like you can the moon and the stars. And don’t you love the coolness that comes eventually? Even when it’s hot, it’s always cooler at night, because that accursed sun shines down unto your weak skins and warms you. You talk about it, you growl at how hot it is, how it gets into your eyes… I do hear you, but yet… alas… you still go about. You do everything in the day, and you rest at night. I will never understand you people.

The sun outshines us. It kills off our beauty.

Do I have another dream? My other dream is to be the brightest star in the galaxy. But I’m not. I’m one of the smallest, one of the most insignificant, one of the youngest. The senior stars around be are bright, monstrous, beautiful balls of wonder. And I guess maybe, just maybe, I can live with that. I can live with that because I’m in the night. I’m part of space. I’m part of darkness. But let me assure you, it’s the warmest, kindest, greatest darkness you could ever want to be a part of. And I know that I talk about your world, that I say many things, that I think that you are dumb for not looking at our glow, at our twinkle, and at the moon. And, I guess I can understand, but only just. You need to see what you’re doing, but why not use a fire?

Ah, it is time for me to leave. The time of night is leaving, and the time of fire in the sky is approaching. You will see us no longer when everything is bright. My story is done for now. I whisper it against the wind every night, but no one seems to hear. But remember, when you can’t see us, we don’t sleep. We watch, we observe, we look to the moon and wait for its time to begin again. We wait for our time of sparkle, our time of beauty, our time of wonder.

We are always watching you.

If you are one of the few that enjoy the dark depths of night, that longs to be among the glittering stars, then I will smile down on you from my secured spot in your life. Don’t take advantage of the night, the stars, the moon. One day, when your planet has long died, we’ll still be everywhere, and we’ll whisper our story there. Different versions of the same story, that is what our words are.

I am fading; the light is coming. But remember:

We are the sparkling things in the sky, blinking down on you. We sing to you, we whisper our stories, we lull you to sleep at times. We are the princes and princesses of our nighttime king, the Moon. We are the stars. And we always say this, even when we are bitter at your antics. We always say…

Good night; enjoy your light.

This one is really lovely; the language and the flow are beautiful. This one really stood out to me, and you've earned yourself first place this month

Second Place

It’s beautifully bright light. It almost blinds me, but not quite, and I know exactly what specimen this is. This comet is a dream comet. Ironically I’ve dreamed about exactly this type of comet, and it is with enthusiasm lighting up my face in the black and darkness all around me that I lead the net to the comet, waving it about like some kind of rabid dog. But I am not a rabid dog, and my attempts are not futile. A blue light sparkles in the air, and the hunk of rock—although I don’t think dream comets are quite the same—speeds toward Earth, and I follow it, perhaps screaming, perhaps crying. That is the only dream comet I’ve ever seen, and I don’t even know where it landed.

I wonder how I knew it was a dream comet if I had never seen one before. Well, I had, but only in my dreams. I had ever even dared to think that I could see such a fantastical beauty. The stars shine brighter, fiercely honoring their friend who has fallen to the Earth and entertained so many. The sun is rising again, and the twinkling spheres of fire fade almost completely. It hurts a little to let them go. But now the sun, the closest star to me, is rising above the mountaintops. I dart higher into the mountains, maybe wanting to say goodbye to the comet and the stars.

The next night the stars shine even more beautiful than before, if that’s possible. Fireworks explode in front of my five year old eyes, and I sweep a strand of hair from my face. My hand distracted me, and my connection to the stars is lost. My hands drop into my lap, and the stars fade dully into their midnight blue background of the sky, seemingly defeated. I scream, but they are not coming back. I failed them, and I openly admit this as I sob into my hands. I was so little, so innocent, like a blooming flower bud, and yet I was so deep and sentimental. I knew I had lost a part of me forever. I should not have disturbed the stars.

And now I see the sun, that disastrous star, flaming beacon that ruins my world. My world of darkness. I am allergic to sun particles, and the darkness is my haven. But you would not understand, because being allergic to the sun is a rare case. So I forget about that beautiful, streaking comet of starlight and I enter my home once again, climb in the covers, and squeeze my eyes shut. Here is nothing more for me to see. The darkness is my haven.

This one isn't quite what the challenge described, but the language and thought in this was enough to bring it up to second place.

Third Place

Everything is silent. It has been and always will be. The infinite void of space, which cascades through time and contains each and every one of us, has always been silent. It is huge, bright, and silent. Uninhabitable in most cases. Every sound has been suppressed, kept to its home and banned from the stars. Each star has a home, a place to call its own. Each lives in a solar system within a star system inside a galaxy, among the hundreds of billions of others and yet we all know each other’s names. It’s all one big brilliant mistake, and it’s so disorganized that it has become simple to understand. From the moment we’re born, the enormity and the scale of the universe have been known to us. We shine in the night because we must, because that is what we are born to do; to light the night and burn away fear. And we like it. For millennia, we live our puny lives in this massive, fantastic place, shining for those on earth. Yes, they have tried to find others. But they are alone. The inhabitants of the blue marble are completely and utterly alone in this silent universe. They’ve sent people out to the atmosphere, into space, and onto their moon. And now they’ve made it to another one of the planets in their solar system. Yes, the “final frontier” as they call it seems to be the one thing which they never grow tired of. There’s always more, they say; and this is true. There’s more out there than even the stars can tell. There are an infinite number of stories untold, songs unsung, and lives to be lived. I think that all of the stars look at earth and favor it above all the other wonders this universe has to offer. It breathes life and curiosity into an otherwise quiet and dead world.

This one didn't catch my eye as much as the other two, but don't get me wrong, it's still really, really good!





I will put up this months task now. Your last chance to enter will be the 15th of February. Good luck, everybody!

[abbie-sama]

Wow, I really didn't think I would win. Thank you so much! I really enjoyed this, so I can't wait for the next one. <3

[OrangeNeon]

Snow. It's meaning changes from person to person. Sometimes it depends on where you were raised. Other times it depends on who you are on the inside. There isn't just one definition of snow; there is millons. Maybe even more than that.
To someone raised in a northern town where it snows on a regular basis, like I was, snow is equivalent to beauty. The tiny flakes fall daintly to the ground, covering the ground in a white sheet. It gives you the slight hope that school might be canceled the next day. Even if you don't frolic in the snow like the others, you still feel appreciation towards the snow for getting you out of another dreadful day at school.
Snow gives even the most barren wasteland a sense of beauty. In the deep darkness of night, snowflakes catch every speck of light thrown at them. They appear to be stars falling gracefully down from the beyonds of space. Sometimes you can just make out the shape of the snowflake. Everytime it's something different, they never stop changing.
There's just something about the snow that draws you in and never lets you go. If you come from a southern place and have never seen snow before, it seems to enchant you into never wanting to stop looking at it. Your tan skin feels something it's never experienced before. Coldness. At first it's uncomfortable and you don't enjoy it. But then you feel something else. A tingly, warm feeling spreading from your feet to your head. You realize you have fallen in love with snow.

[indebted]

Username: Christine Daae. C:
Nickname(s): Just call me Mimi.
Entry to Current Challenge:

It’s so silent. The world is quiet. Nothing is said, nor will anything ever be said, when you hear the screams of silence. Then comes the snow, that lovely falling powder upon the world’s sidewalks, the winter wonder that children have always wished for. It describes Christmas. White Christmases, those evergreen trees dusted lightly with that awing snow. Throw away those bottles of spray tan for me, and run outside like a child. Run outside and play, never mind how old you are. For a second, be Peter Pan, and stick out your chin with a pout on your face, and say, “I don’t want to grow up.” Be brave and trek in that knee deep snow. Laugh and enjoy those mere moments of childhood memories, of eating the snow, having snow stuffed down your shirt, shrieking and running back inside.

When you were a child, you played in that snow. You made a shelter you called an igloo, though it was really a pile of snow you’d made a hole in and then crawled into. Still an igloo, at least to you. When you were a child you molded snowballs with your mitten enveloped hands and threw them at your friends. Then you’d be bombarded with more snowballs. And you’d run inside and cry to you mother that the boy down the street was bullying you and she’d come outside for your own sake and tell that boy off, because throwing snowballs with rocks as center cores is not responsible. You’d straighten up for the sake of looking professional and then trail behind your mother to enjoy a good cup of hot cocoa with some sugar cubes thrown in, just the way you liked it. You’d sip that good tasting stuff down with a red straw because your favorite color was red.

Now you’re a parent. You’re the one who trudges out into the cold, bitter snow and shouts at that boy from down the street. You’re the one who smiles at her child when he complains that that boy isn’t nice at all. You’re the one who makes that hot cocoa and resists putting that red straw in, because your little boy’s favorite color is blue and he likes blue straws. He doesn’t like white sugar. He likes brown sugar, and he’s reminded you that so many times. You’re the one who puts her arm around him and draws him in for a hug while sitting in front of that blazing fireplace. You’re the one who fingers a black and white photo of her mother’s picture and even in the cruelest of blizzards forces her way out the door and lays a bouquet of roses on her mother’s grave. She died on Christmas Day. You’re the one who looks outside and remembers her memoirs as a child.

After Christmas day it’s different. The snow melts and the mood is rather melancholy. The presents have been unwrapped and the snow is gone, so there’s nothing left to remembers. You look outside for a bare, fleeting second, and you have a flashback: you played in the snow. You claimed you’d never grow up. You said that nothing could make you sadder than to have brown sugar cubes in your cocoa. But then you remember that your workplace is covered with snow, and the beauty of all those memoirs is pushed away. Groaning, you drag your feet along and fight through the snow. As you do so, tears come to your eyes. Never before have you had to fight the lovely snow. Never before. But you have grown up now. You straighten up like you used to, all stiff and professional, and walk to the bus stop to get onto your shuttle. You brush off the few snowflakes that remain on your coat and walk away from that winter wonderland. It seems that love of the snow escapes along with childhood.

Other: I'm done! I'm so happy I got second.