I have a book called Complete the Story and it has 150 interesting writing prompts. I recommend it to anyone who often faces writer’s block. I am going to try to do one every other day. This is day 23, and prompt #93 in the book. Today, my challenge was to provide an alternative insight.
Prompt: I had never been so cold in my life, but I’d also never felt as alive. I was so exhilarated, I thought I might burst in to a million sparks. I looked up…
I had never been so cold in my life, but I’d also never felt as alive. I was so exhilarated, I thought I might burst in to a million sparks. I looked up in awe, along with the rest of the crowd, knowing how lucky I was — and still am — to witness this. It had never happened before and never will happen again. All the suns were down and every moon was up in the deep green sky, watching down upon us. I hear that in other worlds they call this “night,” and it happens every twelve or so hours and then lasts for another twelve! And can you believe what they do to honor, celebrate, respect something so extraordinary? They sleep. Seriously. They hardly even acknowledge how lucky they are to regularly receive darkness for free. Oh, what I would give to not have to pay my dark bills. I understood that it was probably just normal for them, they probably didn’t give any thought to it, to their extreme luck, but still. How could they possibly let something so glorious pass normally?
Don’t think, I directed myself. You can’t get distracted. Don’t let any second of this magnificent moment go to waste.
I stared up, trying not to think, but I still did. The entire planet was going to be out sometime in those next hours, whenever they got to see the darkness. It was so astonishing that no one would miss it. Well, almost no one. I glanced above the crowd next to me, ripping my gaze off of the stars, and saw a few people in stretchers, brought from the local hospital to see this. The diversity of the crowd and how we were all together, care-free, watching it, was enough to make it an incredible experience, but I had to look back at what’s above. It was…dark. Like, dark all around. It was so weird. I shivered a bit as my eyes sparkled in the moonlight.
Just then, I saw a hint of brightness peeking out above the land. Cries of disappointment, and some of real tears, scattered around me as the first of the five suns slowly made its way up, invading this moment. I hear that on the planets where night happens every few hours, light and sun and brightness is often associated with good and darkness and night with bad, but here it’s the other way around. The brightness usually takes over, and we have to pay for darkness. It’s a terrible lesson, but it’s the way it works.
The sun began to glisten on us, turning into twilight, which is somewhat common here (but not as common as daylight). More sighs, cries, shouts, moans. I myself felt my eyes get a bit wet. The next sun trailed behind the one preceding it, and then another, and another. Just one was left. It was nearly daylight.
The tears spilled down my face as I shielded my eyes from the harsh-yet-typical light and both moons faded away. I cried as I thought of the lucky people on “Earth” who don’t take this for granted. I cried for my mother, who was too sick to come out and see this, and everyone else who missed. I cried for myself, which was not greedy, because I knew I would never see this again. I cried because I wished it would last more than a few minutes, and I cried because it was over. It was over. Forever.