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I was a finalist for this mini story/poetry conest, but I did not win. The winnng piece was a fairly simple metaphor of war/pollution/hatred/greed=dragons. (REAL ones...)
: / I thought that the second and third place entries were MUCH deeper. After all, it was not supposed to be a poetry contest, but a narrative contest.

Here is my entry. I'm sorry it is so short: that was the actual word limit. Enjoy.





It was once gleaming. Once, long ago, its floors were un-cracked and smooth; its windows clear and whole. Once, the people gleamed . The people walked on its floors; looked through its windows.
They did no longer.

First, the horses came, with strange boxes behind them. People! People came from the boxes, filling its floors with excitement and life, giving it purpose, joy; belonging. The people stayed in it, bought and sold, ate and lived.
No longer.

The rumble boxes with wheels came next, changing it forever. It was made bigger and better--more was built and changed. To its delight, more people came than before, carried by big rumble boxes that spouted smoke into the air. The people began to change--the fabric on their bodies, what they bought, the way they spoke. Often it did not understand. Still, the people came.
But no longer.

As time passed, it soon realized it understood nothing. The people no longer stayed, bought and lived, but sat. The ones with the rumble boxes left, leaving the others behind. It watched through sad, broken windows. People lay on the cold concrete, cups in hand. It did its best to warm them in winter, to welcome them inside, but still people suffered. They were beginning to leave.

People!

In rumble boxes again. Wait. They were different. Red and blue was flashing on top of these white ones. They took the people away! So it was used again, to hide, to live, to sell. Strange powders and leaves came in and money out. Through broken, rotting doors, it was smiling.
People began to come from afar now.

BOOM. The people came again, this time in rumble boxes that could fly! It opened up to greet them, but….BOOM. What were they dropping? Gifts? It heard its few people scream, and they hid inside, praying. Its comforting whispers were not heard.

All became quiet. The people were gone. Only once did it ever get to see them again. Little, they were, standing in lines.

“This, children, was a street destroyed by war. It’s a memorial now. Come along.”

What a poor, lonely street.

thanks waffles ^3^

sadly I had to cut down the ending because of the [330?] word count limit

sweatdrop

I thought I had managed pretty well, considering the word limit. Some entries were much better than mine.

I was originally going to enter a little msytery called "The Jar of Mysterious Liquid", but I couldn't get all the plotpoints in.

The jar was found by the children.

It was under the stairs for decades. Wind beat the walls around it, stripped the paint and led decay inside, the strange substance changing into a liquefied concoction.

It was in a cold storage room, but strangely empty. Its lid was rusted over now, surely stuck on the glass forever. Apparently it was never opened--not a drop was missing. The yellowed label upon it read ‘peaches’ in scratchy script, but the insides’ colour said different. It was red now, not orange like it should have been, even after this long.

I was wrong. The cat found the jar first. He was never very sharp, and this day was no different. People were there. This had sparked his curiosity. He waited until nightfall to creep through the back window and down the stairs. It knew this was where the food was. Surely there was something down there to eat. It found its way to the door and in easily. His keen eyes saw it immediately. It crept closer until the jar was in front of his sniffing nose.

He hissed.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t food. In fact, the bristles on his back stood up in warning. He hit the door on the way out, losing his bearings for a moment. Soon he was out the door, up the stairs and out the window.
The jar remained untouched for another week. On Sunday, curious like the cat, two children found it. The girl pulled a string and light flicked on, revealing shelves--and the jar. They took it away upstairs, eager to get it open, to taste it. They never did. The cat did, however. He had knocked it over.

Curiosity killed the cat.

The homeowner before had other plans for that jar. Stunned, the children began to investigate. It was found to be rat poison, disguised with dye and food. As the children found out later, it was to kill a certain someone, but the madman hadn’t got the chance to use it. She was killed another way, and he was imprisoned for murder. And to think it was labelled ‘peaches’…
Ha! Poor cat.