Maternity in Black and White
by MilesW

Comment:
She kissed his head gently, and hummed a gentle lullabye. He was her pride and joy, her precious little one. He had been a gift that she would cherish always.

She lay him down among the leaves, soft and inviting, and backed away, the lullabye catching in her throat, her eyes beginning to glisten.

For the rest of her days, she would remember him. Love him. For the rest of her days she would never forget the joy he had given her.

He was her pride and joy, her precious little one, and as the rest of them joined her Lullabye they said goodbye in their way, and sent his memory on another journey with the song of a Mother's Love to guide him.

Seed pods
by train

Comment:
It was with enormous pride and joy that Mr. and Mrs. Peapod, joined by Grandmother Hess, lifted up their brand new baby to the world.

As the sun shone down, and the legumes and berries cheered, a new age was ushered unto the garden.

Tiny Dancer
by BigSmiles

Comment:
They thought it was so funny. Oh, so funny. They pointed, and laughed, and said how cute it was. How adorable. How PRECIOUS.

To Peter, however, there was but one thought.

Revenge.

Beach Art
by wildiris

Comment:
It started slowly.

At first, it was as if it were not happening at all. So subtle and slowly did they form. Little marks in the sand, etching themselves out over the course of days. So minutely that it was beyond observation, but etched they were. If the waves obscured them, they appeared again without pause. If a foot scattered them, they regrew, but quicker now.

Then, as if they had reached a sort of breaking point, the etching began to accelerate. They came faster now, sketching across the beachfront as an artist worked his easel, appearing across the sand in patterns like the vegetation of the sea. They etched, and advanced, until one of the main branches suddenly parted a parcel of sand, revealing there an object, white and glistening, some sort of stone.

Then, without a sound, the etchings departed. The sand filled in and the waves splashed in and wiped them out.

The stone remained. Moments later, with a crack that echoed for miles around, a sound that should not have been possible from this tiny thing, a fissure appeared in the smooth casing. A fissure that bled an unholy light.

It was a gift from the sea, and it had opened, and what lay inside was the ruin of us all.

Endeavour
by gzupruk

Comment:
It came down from the black of night in a blaze of light, leaving a trail that burned itself into the eyes of any that happened to witness it. It blazed down and the impact shattered the very reality and obliterated everything near.

It came down out of the darkness of the sky and changed everything. It destroyed hopes and dreams. It caused chaos and panic. It ushered in the dawning of another, darker, god-forsaken age.

It was pain and suffering and torment, and it was not alone.

Dressed Herself
by good_ham

Comment:
Sofie was a willful child. Now, this isn't a surprise in itself, as willful children are a dime a dozen on most days, in most places, throughout the history of childhood, but Sofie was a little different.

Sofie had a gift.

On this day, as she strolled smug and confident, dressed in her favorite outfit that her mom almost didn't let her wear (and she certainly knew how to get people to change their minds now, didn't she?), the adults around her walked stiffly, anxiously, fearfully.

Sofie had a gift, and when your world is suddenly thrust into a monochrome existence due to the temper of a child that has been told no when wishing to wear an outlandish outfit, well, you end up letting that child wear that outfit.

So she strolled along, a brilliant mass of color in a black and white world of her making, and she decided then that she was having Ice Cream for dinner tonight, oh yes, and Pete forbid the one to try and stop her, because...

Sofie had a gift.

Old woman with pumpkins
by Giorgio

Comment:
She started her day like any other. Waking up, making and pouring her morning tea. Glancing quickly through the paper that that sweet young boy had been dropping on her doorstep for a couple of years now. She always greeted him with a smile and a sweet. A chat over the balcony with her neighbor, Greta, about this and that and days gone by.

Then she would begin the chores of the day. Whatever needed doing. This morning it was the leaves on the side of the house. They'd fallen quickly this year, and she'd been put a little behind. She grabbed her broom from the corner where it had rested for so many years. A creature of habit, was she. Then began her task.

It wasn't long, however, before she began to feel a little more tired than usual. Perhaps it was the work. Perhaps it was due to the lack of sleep she'd been having lately. Perhaps it was just one of those days. She took one final sweep, and then sat down on her usual stool. Other than being tired, she felt good. Nothing to be alarmed about. Just needed to close her eyes for a moment. Yes, close her eyes and rest. Recharge.

It was Greta that found her a few hours later, sitting there still, broom in hand, eyes closed as if in a deep and gentle sleep. Yet at some point, that morning, her sleep had deepened to that sleep from which we do not waken. At some point, she had passed to a land beyond this one, to rest forever more.

Old Neighbors
by trevytrev

Comment:
She sat there, with her pad of paper and a set of charcoal pencils by here side. She came out here often, to get away, to relax, to recharge. She especially came out here when her father was in one of his 'moods'. Oh, yes, she definitely came out here then.

This was one of those days. He was usually kind and gentle, her father, but sometimes he was a different man. Sometimes when the drink flowed a little quicker than usual, sometimes when she or her mother said just the wrong thing, sometimes when it was simply that an object was out of place in his personal world of order, he changed.

She had recognized that change early, this time, and had escaped out here, to this field. Her favorite place. She would sit and feel the wind and listen to the sounds and sketch whatever came to mind. Today, she had decided to turn this field into something more. On her pad, she would transform this field into a little hideaway for herself. Something more than just the flowing grasses in front of her. Something she could come to even on the rainy days, or in the months of snow-fall.

So she began, choosing a spot for a large and elder tree. She loved trees, and the shade they provided, and the enjoyment of climbing their inviting branches and hiding there, and pretending she was a nymph of the wood. Smiling at the thought, she glanced up from her work, and nearly dropped it on the ground.

There before her, leaves blowing in the breeze, was her tree. A gasp of shock escaped her, and she quickly looked to her drawing, then up again. There was no mistaking it. It was her tree. She had drawn it, and there it was. In an older person, perhaps, this would be cause for fear, would cause them to leave this place and never return. Not she. She was 16, still young enough to somehow simply accept this curious and magical turn of events, but old enough to then get a sly look on her face as she picked up another pencil. She had wanted to simply sketch an imaginary getaway, but now...

Now she sketched furiously, madly. Putting line to paper as fast as her fingers would allow her. When she was done, she looked up, and a giant grin lit her face from ear to ear. It had worked again. A little hut, quaint and simple, stood by her tree. As if in a dream, she slowly stood, and walked to that place. Her imaginary hideout made real.

Never again was she able to recreate that moment. Never again was she able to create in reality what she drew from imagination, but never again did she need to so badly. She had her getaway, and in years to come it would be her salvation and sanctuary for all of life's hardships.

my galvanized tub
by XMountaineer

Comment:
*FLASH!*

Jimmy turned, shocked, and yelled at his mother.

"Whatcha doin?! Can't ya see I'm havin' a BATH here!?"

Of course, all his mother heard was, "Yaaah gabba ba-ba coooo". She laughed at her precious little guy, and Jimmy?

Jimmy plotted his revenge.

Valley of the Shadow
by Les_Feck

Comment:
It was a conspiracy theorist's worst nightmare, or dream come true, depending on how you wished to look at it.

It started on the morning of the 13th, a Friday, aptly enough. First, just hints and wisps. To many people, it was no more than some crazy stunt plane blowing colored smoke, or a fire-fighting plane dumping its retardant. At first, not much thought was given to it.

It was when the red colored dust, if that was what it was, started appearing over every country, growing more and more prominent, showing up in scattered news casts all over the globe, that people began to worry.

What was it? Where did it come from? Was it dangerous? Nobody had the answers to these questions. Nobody claimed responsibility. Research planes that went up to collect samples never returned. Fear and panic began to spread, as did the red 'dust'.

As the days turned to weeks, and the dust took over the atmosphere, blotting out the sun, humanity turned to pure chaos as panic and looting and cries of the end of days took control. Societies became unglued. Normally calm and intelligent people turned into raving lunatics. Cities were destroyed. Weeks turned to months, months to years, and yet the dust remained in the air, never touching the earth, but it didn't need to. The simple fact of its presence seemed to be enough.

Then, after decades of destruction and genocide and suicides and the bloody Ides of March, when no trace of human existence was to be found on the face of the earth, the dust began to dissipate. A wind formed across the globe and scattered that red menace into nothingness, and the sun shone forth in full glory once again. The foxes peeked out of their dens. The birds began to sing. The breeze rustled branches.

And if the Earth could smile, it may have done so then.