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One Shot · Original Minific ·
Organised by RogerDodger
Word limit 400–750
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One Chance
This was it.

The blazing hot day had been quickly chased away by the onset of night. Sharp wind raced across the meadow, long since clear of the ancient trees that had once shrouded the sky with their mighty bodies, swiftly dispelling what little heat had still lingered.

Three siblings sat alone amidst uneven mounds of moss and grass and of twisted roots sticking up towards the heavens. Within a dip of the rise and fall of the earth they had claimed their stay, half buried in a makeshift nest of sun scorched leaves and brittle branches.

Wrapped up as best they could, their warm bodies tangled together with one another to starve off the encroaching cold, they sat unmoving, sans the occasional shift of freezing limbs.

Just a little longer.

Beneath the vastness of the never-ending gray shroud above three tiny souls, alone and immeasurably far from where they would belong, yet still holding their bright eyes forever skyward. Waiting. Like they had for so long.

The clouds rolled, breaking apart for seconds at a time exposing glimpses the inky sky before swallowing it up once more. The sound of silence broken up by the sough of wind echoing endlessly like the haunting howls of the land itself.

The littlest of the three grunted, shifting their body and poking their nose out from the safe embrace of their twin guardians, wordlessly, desperately pleading with existence itself.

Just this once.

Just one chance.

They only had this night.

And then, never again.

The world stayed silent.

There was a shift.

This was it.

They could feel it in the air, in their bones.

Their only shot.

The racing clouds shifted for just a moment, starlight pouring through the wound ripped to the void above. It wasn’t black, barely gray in fact, like static filling the opening to nothing, and with so less but the powers that be holding three tiny souls to a rock hurtling across a vast expanse of existence amidst nothing and light.

Just that moment a blaze of white, faster than a blink even, lit up, brighter than all its brethren, leaving a single streak within that hole in the sky, yet faded so swift like it had never even been there.

An exhale.

Three in fact.

All eyes still glued to above as it closed over with rolling silver.

And just like that, it was over.

Their one chance.
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#1 ·
· · >>Fenton
...I dun get it.

There were some nice words here, but this is so very abstract that I have no idea what I'm looking at. Best guess: three siblings outside on a cold night.

That's basically all I can concretely say I saw in this story. Something seemed to happen, but what it was and what it meant... I honestly have no idea. I can't even tell if they succeeded or failed in this one chance they were given, and that feels like it's something I should know. I think it's important to the story.
#2 ·
· · >>Ranmilia
Hmmm, this one feels very close to a prose poem. I was like >>Not_A_Hat at first, I didn't know what to do whith it but instead of going for the next, something caught me, I wanted to understand.

After three careful reads, I still don't understand it but I love it, and instead of trying to understand it, I'm gonna feel it.
The picture you're drawing feels beautiful and tragic. The three siblings are clearly waiting for something, vainly trying to protect themselves from the elements, waiting for their unique opportunity. To do what? Who cares? That's not the focus of the story, the focus is on the waiting, that dreaded feeling when you can't do anything but wait, wondering if it's worth the cost or if you better let everything go. And the longer you wait, the stronger is the feeling.

To the point where you miss the opportunity. That's what I got from the ending. The three siblings have watched the opportunity happening and haven't taken it. And the metaphor of the sky closing is brilliant.

So good job author, very good job.

To the next readers: as long as you're willing to carefully read this one several times, you may be able to get many things from this particular story.
#3 ·
I, too, don't get it. Are they... trees? No, probably not. Is this fantasy? The Three Little Pigs? Three kids waiting to see a comet or shooting star, maybe make a wish?

Pure metaphor? >>Fenton believes so. I'm not sure I'm willing to read so far into it though. It's not even clear to me that they did miss whatever the opportunity was. "Kids waiting to see a comet" seems like the most likely possibility to me, in which case they did succeed in seeing it.

Even if that is the case, though, I'm not getting a ton of emotional affect from it. The prose is extremely purple, violet as the heavens themselves on the wafts of a gaseous nebula as the galaxy torridly drifts across teeming untold masses of salacious void. And, well, I don't have time or patience to read one story several times. I've got another twenty-ish to read and critique and each one takes 10-30 minutes. Strong writing needs to be able to convey itself on the first read.

So, to me, this is going in the "failed experiments" tier. Not terrible, not by any means, but consider giving the readers slightly more overt cues of what they should take from a piece. Thanks for writing!
#4 · 2
So, well written, but I have issues.

I want to hear from the author what his idea was when he came up with this story. "Paint a scene in the wilderness with three characters. Describe them with no words whatsoever. They're waiting for something. Then, something happens! Deep words about how we're all just passengers on this tiny rock zooming through the vastness of space. Light, darkness, sounds! Short, one-sentence paragraphs. End."

Somehow this is in fourth place on my slate.
#5 ·
An exercise is nice prose (thought a bit excessive for my taste, it is at least consistently framed and maintained) that doesn't really achieve anything else, unfortunately. More than anything this feels like it is supposed to be the start of something, because there's nothing else to be grabbed on. No real character, no substantive narrative arc, and not even really any emotions to cling to because we don't know much about the situation except whatever baggage we choose to bring to it (which might be intentional, but still).