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Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The following is a piece of writing submitted by Eirini on July 1, 2012

Ash mirrors

I am the child of rain and of a dancing willow. I used do nothing with my life except be there and grace the world with my presence. Am I not beautiful? Look at me. Admit it, you have never seen anything as mysterious as me.
Yet one day I was looking at the sky and felt this slight pang of jealousy, something like: "this is more beautiful than me. I bet more people stare at it with admiration everyday, than at me."
Do you not see how frustrating a feeling this can be?
That's when it struck me, my great mission, my one and only goal as a creature of perfection so annoyingly equaled.
I must defile the sky, I must make it forever ugly and imperfect. Not just this sky, but all the skies, the starry night sky and the grey couldy sky and the blue, blue sky of summer and the whitish sky of winter, and so many others.
How could I do that? Well, it seemed that people loved the sky for its immensity. Most people hated a good part of the possible skies. Rainy skies, autumn skies, for instance, were rarely appreciated. The most favored were the ones which rendered something of eternity and yet were never still - therefore so deeply moving. Oh, they never moved me! Like I said before, I only felt envy when looking at them.
I set out to defile the sky, to rob it from its wide emptiness. I sat, and summoned the big, dark clouds of smoke, but they did not come out. I tried, again and again, to make them appear, but they refused. Eventually I stopped; it seemed to be of no use. I waited there for a solution, and one day it came. It came to my ears, more precisely, this sound that I had never heard before. It was the sound, the deep rumble of the earth, of the stone moving far, far below my feet.
I cannot say how many hours, how many days, how many seconds I spent listening to the planet, and trying to understand it. Of course, came a time when I knew its language, and spoke back to it. It seemed delighted to have someone to talk to, and we conversed pleasantly on various matters.
Then I told her of my wish to kill the sky and, surprisingly - perhaps not so much - it answered favorably, voicing its own jealousy at its nemesis.
Together we called for the lava and the rocks, and the smoke and the ash, and everywhere on earth volcanoes old and new erupted, spouting their hate and their envy at the sky. It took barely a day to hide it all from the surface under a dark coat of soot. For a moment, I was satisfied; but I couldn't help but to feel that the sky was still there, hiding behind the clouds, taunting me because I could not end its existence, just conceal it in a very poor manner.
I shouted in range and I forced a gate to open, a gate between worlds, I knew it, I meant it to be so.
If I hide every planet from the sky, then the sky will be hidden from every planet, and it shall be no more.

There is nothing difficult about my task. Mirror, Mirror...

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