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Everyone's entries were so good!!! I enjoyed reading all of them! Without further ado~

Honorable Mention - BookGirl! I enjoyed the mysteriousness of the handwritten note, and the light-hearted feeling as the narrator follows the note's directions, and just the overall feeling to it is nice. Great job!

Third Place - Lord Entropy! I loved reading this one, with the contrast between the descriptions of the other characters and the narrator. I especially loved the ending, "It was like a spirit, like a localised force, like a hole in the world in the shape of a person. It sat with us, and we fell silent. We remained silent until the sun rose." I love that description, and that poetic feeling to it. Amazing work!

Second Place - CelineBurningBright! This entry stood out to me because of the perspective and how it makes you question the universe. I love especially, "When can humans learn, the universe is not a thing to be understood. It is a thing to be appreciated." I really just want to quote that and put it up somewhere. Really great job!

First Place - Ultimatum! I loovee the description in this, especially, "He would read the beginnings of the sunset like an open book, allowing his eyes to skim across across lines of white wispy text and flapping black punctuation marks, all printed on fragile blue pages of firmanent." I love the way you described Doctor Janus looking at the sunset, and the overall sci-fi feeling to it.

Ahhhh thanks so much! Everyone's entries were all amazing and I loved reading them all. The next theme will be streets, whether it be city streets or country lanes or dusty paths <3 I shall be judging on... the 21th, would that be long enough? 

It is a stale, cold morning. Clouds collect in the blue skies above, and the light breeze of the south wind flies across. Silence is in the air, unusual as if it once were full of noise.

The dark cobblestone streets reflect the lingering light of dawn, cracked in many places due to so many people walking on it and rain wearing it out. Rusty black lampstands line the faded gray sidewalks that line the streets like ants.

Buildings also line the sidewalk, each of them old and used. A candy store once filled with the laughter of children now lays abandoned, the glass of its window smudged and stained from so long a time.

Shadows dart across the cobblestone streets, even though there is not a creature in sight. Perhaps they are remnants of what once was there. Now it is replaced by simple, light shadows...as if of ghosts.

A faint sound of footsteps across the cobblestone streets, despite nothing there to make the sound. A faded, yet familiar sound of bustling in crowded streets floats through the air. Perhaps the sounds are echoes...no longer there.

Life...is out of sight. Yet there is a small crack in one particular cobblestone on the street, and in that crack is dirt, and in that dirt is a seed.

A seed that grows into a sprout. A small, leafy green sprout. The single sign of life. The single survivor of what had happened. It is hope.

The clouds begin to gather, turning a pale gray. The sky begins to rumble, like a beast coming alive. And from the sky comes a single drop of rain.

---

In case you couldn't tell, yes, this is based on a poem I wrote. 

Darn, I totally forgot about this. I'll be extending the date to the 28th then?

Um... so... I want to write something buuut I'm not sure if this is still going? It's Nov. 14? Is the theme still streets?

Dust -- caked and carved up by rounded prongs; Dust -- you can taste the clay in the air. Kicked up to the sky, scratchy throat, tongue and lungs; dry-splattered upon stray rocks and matting the tall grasses. Parched, cracked, crumbling dust. Too pale to call golden,  too gritty to be considered chalky; far too sunburnt to be soil, much too bland to be called the colour of blood.

The streets are empty, well-worn, once oft travelled. Made of dust and memories and hoofprints, and that run like rivers when it rains. Maybe you'll find a skull, a bone or a cross or a doll. These streets are old, sun-baked streets. From old times, glory long gone; no longer needed, no longer used as a lifeline. Empty, dusty, but never gone.

The air smells fresh, a bit sharp, and a bit smoky. A soft wind rustles leaves that you hear. Open your eyes. 

You are walking down a dirt road. Bits of small rock roll beneath your feet, making a slight crunching sound. The road is straight for now, slightly declining but up ahead you see that it curves to the right and starts to go down the hill even more. The road disappears around the corner, but you can see it reappears over the next hill. There is a puddle in the road, here and there, and the grass is silver with dew. The sun is coming up, and the slight chill in the air calls for the sharpness in smell. The freshness comes from the rain last night, and a curling trail of smoke in the distance is the smoky scent.

On the right side of the dirt road, a hill rises, with some evergreens swaying on the peak. The grass is tall on this side, and turning a tan color as the season progresses. On the left side, tall maples and oaks line the road, a flurry of red, and oranges, and gold, shedding leaves when the winds blow. They swirl to the ground, covering some of the road and making a pleasant swishing noise when you walk through them. The grass is short, and a gentle slope behind the trees falls into a bubbling brook, splashing merrily over rocks and pebbles. The water is mostly clear, but it is a bit muddy and runs a bit faster than usual from the rain.

Looking at the sky, you see the sun has fully cleared the horizon behind you, shining on the trees and making them look like they’re on fire. The dew glistened like jewels, and the warmth felt nice on your back and hair, warming your head. The sky is a lovely blue, and an occasional leftover cloud drifts across the azure. 

At the curve in the road, you leave the stream behind, but the fiery trees continue to greet you like soldiers on the side of the path. The hill on the left side slopes down with the road, and more autumn trees line that side of the path now. Backpedaling slightly as you go down the road, the small rocks beneath your feet making it difficult to stay upright, you see a quaint little town.

The dirt road continues through this town, past shops and carts, where sellers are starting their day, pedestrians slowly starting to walk the street. Fresh apples in one cart are a lovely red, and a door open to a coffee shop lets out the delicious scents of tea and pastries. Children rush by, making curtains on another cart flutter, laughing and giggling as they head up the road you just came down. The town slowly came to life more and more, talking and laughter and bartering filling the morning air. Smiles were seen on every side, and even a stranger as yourself was greeted politely and warmly. It seemed that this road, that had led to this street, led to a place of autumn festivity and kindness.