I'm extending the deadline to Febuary 22 since there aren't any submissions. If anyone wants to join, this is the time to do it.

There haven't really been any new submissions, so if anybody would like to join, feel free to do so! If not, that's alright. 

Ok, here it is:

The falcon, perched on a branch, watched. Watching was its life. It watched the mouse dart over the field. It didn't dive for that mouse, it wouldn't do such a thing. No, it would watch...and wait. Who was that sad old thing watching for, I don't know. Its eyes tell of something ancient, something forgotten. 

Every day of the second Great War I would walk to the garden; past the school, the library, to Mrs. Warner Schmidzt house. She would give me tea and something from her garden, and I would sit on her porch, watching the falcon. Sometimes, it would cry out. Maybe, many years ago it had lost, lost something. But I did not know. Maybe I never would. 

After years and years, that falcon flew away, maybe to lay down its life, or for some other reason. But I thought about it for years and years. I am an old man now, but I have not forgotten it. I live in the Schmidzt household, for the old lady gave it to me four years ere she died, and go out to the garden every day.

Every day, too, do I walk through the neighborhood, and though I know that falcon isn't alive anymore, I hope. Its beauty encouraged me, gave me hope, but I do not know why. Why does something so forlorn give me energy, and courage? Maybe it had hope, so I, too, could hope yet for better days. For the war is over now, but still, occasionally I become afraid. But I think of the falcon, and what hardships a bird must endure before its life ends, and I can face fear, and conquer it. THE END 

So, that's it. I hope ya like it.

Can we bring this back? :0

would we keep the previous prompt?

hi

okay, piece for prompt

(a layman's) dream of flying away 

We were out on the trail that goes into the water, Duck and I. It's a nice trail, with rocks piled on either side, right out there in the little paahe of water separating the Sound from the marsh around Camano. Duck had his hair up in a ponytail, and a cardigan on. He was dressed for the temperature, which was atypical. 

"Look, okay man, the band needs a drummer. And you don't need to be any good, really. We let Tummler be in it, and you know, she can't hold a note." 

"Okay," I said, "She can drum for you, then." "Dude," he said, " She's only got one working hand. And she's getting married soon, so she'll be taking care of Maggie's kid. The little... The tap dancer? Look, she's got stuff going on, you've got absolutely nothing, so come on." 

I guess I was a little upset that he said I had nothing, but it was true. Stanwood, my dad had moved there to work at Twin City Foods. When it closed, things got bad for us, and the whole town I guess. I was pretty much stranded, we both were. He had made admonishing me his favorite pastime. He would berate me in his choppy German accent. "I am an old fool," he would grumble. "What is your excuse? Why have you not made something of yourself?" The answer to that was fairly obvious. Where were my options? 

I had worked at the Viking Village before it closed, and at that time I worked at the Crystal Thrift store. My only Coworker was the daughter of the owner, Maggie. I forget the girl's name. She didn't talk much, but she tap danced, I believe. I think she may have had Asperger's, but I don't remember. There was a grocery outlet that I shopped at occasionally, and a QFC that I shopped at rarely. There was Duck's apartment. That was the scope of my world.  

Leaving was basically the only thing I ever thought about. Well, that and Duck. I guess those two things were mutually exclusive. He was never going to leave. He had friends, and a band. And he had me, I guess. I sound so sappy and stupid, telling you this. I haven't seen him since 2018, and we didn't part on good terms.

That day, Duck and I got into the water, and paddled around a little, because it was either that or talking, and I didn't want to talk. So we swam. We were near Camano, which I hear was really very nice before the storm in the eighties. There also used to be a bridge over to it. I remember the bridge, as well as anyone can remember something from when they were four. We left the water, and Duck offered to take me to get teriyaki, at the one next to the QFC, not the garage. I said no, because food is how he got me to talk to him. I figured we'd end up fighting again, about what I thought would happen to him if I left like I wanted to.  I was very tired, and it was Sunday. 

I drove home. It was a bright, clear day, which relaxed me. I do have something like seasonal depression, which is difficult in northern states. I lived with my father, mostly, and so I drove to his house. 

The first sign that something was wrong was the head of a horse in my driveway. Just the head. It was white, if you're curious. 

The second sign was definitely the police car, and the officer standing in front of the house. He didn't look like a police officer. He had those glasses with two bars in the middle, and shoulder length hair. He also had a beard that made him look like a goat. I stepped out of the car.

"Hey, man. You live here?" 

I told him that I did.

"With your dad? Geez, uh, you probably don't want to go inside."

I said, "Okay." 

"Look, uh, do you know anyone who might have any reason to dislike your father?" I told him the truth, which was that any such list would be identical to a list of people who knew him. 

"Huh, noted. Uh, it's probably a serial killer, uh, who got him. Geez, he's dead, by the way, if you didn't pick up on that. There's... Another thing like this happened, recently, locally. And there was a headless horse left there, so..."

He kicked the head next to him, and I nodded dumbly.

"Uh, we try to keep things like this quiet, since, um, the "Mad Dog" murders in the, the nineties. Look, understand, you're, uh, not a suspect. All the same, it'd be nice if you came back to the old precinct and answered a few questions."

I nodded again, and cleared my throat. "Is it okay if I drive myself? To clear my head." "Yeah, yeah man."

I got in my car, and I did not drive to the precinct. Instead, like a man possessed, I gripped the steering wheel and forced myself to the park and ride. It laid on the other side of a long stretch of forest, and the buses went to Seattle on one side, and to Bellingham on the other.

I did not think about Duck, or my father, or my job. I did not think. I bought a ticket and rode a bus to Seattle, and then to Bellingham. I did not get off, because there was nowhere for me to go. I could not get off. Not until I returned home. It was better to dream, I realized, then to actually leave. So I dreamt, in Ducks apartment. 

And I did not leave for a few more years.

Well, if I am judging them I guess I'll try and do it by the... What, 15th ish?

aaaaand I'm just gonna judge today~

Second Place- Arlo the Necromancer 

I'm not 100% sure if you even remember you posted in this... but I really enjoyed your story! It's short and simple, but rather expressive! I love how the storyline follows the falcon, and just the basic feel of the whole thing. Well done!

First Place- Lord Entropy

Omg. You're such a good writer! Just this short piece is amazing. I read it and honestly felt like I just read an entire chapter book lol. The way you write stuff... Yeah. You are just really good. I liked the ending, about how it is better to dream, then to leave. Totally true. Never stop writing! Your turn to judge ;)