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Thread: Weekly Drabble Challenge - Theme: Autumn - Results

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  1. #1
    Ebil Gato Loco Ravenclaw
    He's The Dog... He's An Animagus...
    mugglemathdork's Avatar
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    May 2006
    retired to EbilVille

    Weekly Drabble Challenge - Theme: Autumn - Results

    The leaves are changing color, the weather is turning, and runny noses are abundant...all that could mean is that autumn is here.

    Your challenge is to write a drabble with the overlapping theme of autumn. One restriction: No dialogue.

    The following form must be used when submitting your drabble responses to this post -
    PHP Code:
    B]Word Count:[/B]
    B]Author's Note:[/B] 
    Winners will be awarded 15, 10, and 5 points respectively.

    All drabbles must be less than 500 words; All standard grammar rules, and MNFF submissions guidelines apply.

    The challenge will be up for a week, and be closed exactly a week later (October 12th).

    All questions should be referred to the Question Corner #4 - Do not post questions here. Only drabbles!

    Definitely NOT New Anymore for the Weekly Challenges:
    Due to a major lack of quality drabbles being submitted to the weeklies, Gato Loco will require that some real thoughtful, original submissions be posted from this moment on or you'll end up like this woman here. That's your one and only warning! XD

    Other than that...have fun!

    ~Ebil One

    I've left moddom/fandom...though don't be surprised if I get caught lurking once in a blue moon.
    All questions pertinent to Ravenclaw need to be sent to ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
    If you wish to keep in touch, feel free to friend me on LJ - I don't friend anyone under the age of 18. Sorry!

    Otherwise, so long, and thanks for all the fish!

  2. #2
    Fifth Year Hufflepuff
    I See Dead People... In Mirrors
    fg_weasley's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2007
    Fargo Rock City.
    Name: fg_weasley/Nikki
    House: hufflepuff.
    Title: Rustle
    Warnings: mentioned Character Death
    Word Count: 380
    Authors Note: I like the no dialogue thing! lol. It didn't turn out as descriptive as I thought it would, and it turned out a lot more morbid but oh well. Here is is!

    Rustle, rustle.

    A sound you are familiar with, so very familiar, yet you dread with all your heart, every fiber of your being. You watch October sky from your window, the sun sliding and falling away, orange to pink to black. It takes a few minutes to disappear, and in those minutes you study the changing season from your window. The trees are dying, leaves losing color and breaking away because everything dies in Autumn. It’s all a sea of browns and yellows, oranges and red, death and decay. Sights you wish would go unseen, sounds you wish would go unheard.

    Rustle, rustle. Crunch and break.

    Can you hear it? Of course you can, but you wish you couldn’t.

    The sounds of leaves rubbing against one another in the breeze and falling, falling, spiraling down to the ground where thoughtless feet crush crush crush. You know those sounds; the sounds of Autumn—the one season you wish every year would not come, that time would stand still and leave you stranded, suspended.

    But it never does stand still. Time is too cruel a villain.

    Autumn always comes, dutifully, every year, mocking. Dragging in its wake memories you no longer wish to see, to hear, to smell, to touch. Memories you wish would just float away on the autumn breeze into winter and never return, but they always do. They always do.


    Can you hear it? Of course you can.

    Like a symphony in your mind it plays, round and round, an orchestra for a hundred playing only for you.

    Mommy! Mommy! Help me, Mommy!

    But you can’t. You are too late and she is gone, lost. She is forever Lucy in the Sky where you can no longer reach her. You can see her, smell her, touch her, hear her, but it’s never real, never and never. No matter how painfully you yearn, it’s never real.

    Rustle, rustle.

    Can you hear it?

    The seasons are changing, green becoming brown. What was once beautiful is dead, just like your little girl, your Lucy in the Sky. The seasons shift and alter around you like a kaleidoscope of color and lack thereof, but you remain untouched, unchanged, forever the same, and all Autumn brings is pain.

    Rustle, rustle. Crunch and break.
    "Through literacy you can begin to see the universe.
    Through music you can reach anybody.
    Between the two there is you, unstoppable."

    --grace slick
    avvie: julia/the_opaleye

  3. #3
    Fifth Year Ravenclaw
    People Hate Me for Losing Points
    eternalangel's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    With Regulus
    Name: eternalangel
    Title:At the End of Summer Comes the Bitterness of Fall
    Word Count:461
    Authors Note: I hope this is enough reference to the fall theme.

    The pale haired boy felt the cool autumn wind rifle carelessly through his black, pressed suit. His mother’s still form remained at his side, brushing nonexistent debris from his spotless clothing. As others passed him to get on the Hogwarts Express, he saw excitement and joy litter their faces. He felt a sneer cover his own face as he watched them flounce by, and wondered if that expression would become a permanent resident to his features.

    He couldn’t stand watching all the returning students, couldn’t stand seeing their smiling countenances as they waved goodbye to their families. He looked up at his mother, noting how her looks had prematurely aged over the summer. She had been beautiful once, her blond hair as soft as sunlight and her blue eyes wide seas of thought, but now all he saw was worry and panic; those emotions were something that she had never fully been able to cover up. She was worried for him and for what he must do this year. Her thoughts were so easily seen, strewn across her face like the fallen leaves of the trees.

    The pale haired boy pulled away from his mother’s cautious touch, irritated that she didn’t have more confidence in him. He knew what he was doing. It had been him that the Dark Lord had chosen for this honorable task; it had been him that would redeem the family name in the eyes of the true pureblood families. She should be proud of him, honored that he was chosen to be a Death Eater at so young an age, and yet his mother could not stop her eyes from nervously flickering to her son, as if she were afraid that if she looked away for only a moment, he would disappear forever.

    That was the way she looked at him now. She didn’t try to touch him again, knowing when he was in one of his sour moods, but she didn’t take her eyes off of him either. A part of him missed her touch, raged at himself for his own callous nature, but another part of him, a part that was much closer to the surface of his mind, broiled in anger and irritation.

    He was the man of the house, now that his father was locked away in Azkaban, and he had to do what was necessary to reestablish his family’s good name. He had no time for warm feelings of compassion or love. All he had and all he could be were cold and as unfeeling as the icy wind that braised his face.

    Draco Malfoy stepped away from his mother, gave her a curt nod of his head and strode over to the Hogwarts express, leaving his sentimental childhood far behind.

    Banner of one of my favorite characters. Icon is a quote from Battlestar Galactica. Banner and icon by me.

  4. #4
    Honigkuchenpferd Hufflepuff
    Dobby's Sock Addiction Begins
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    Jun 2008
    currently in the Botosphere
    Name: luinrina
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: The Cold of Autumn
    Warnings: Character Death
    Word Count: 281 <--- - that's short... o_o
    Author's Note: Thanks to Sammy for her comments. *squishes*

    Itís getting cold again. The warmth of summer has vanished, and slowly the frosty fingers of winter crawl over the country. Trees lose their leaves in order to survive the hard winter months, only to be green once more in spring.

    Thatís the rhythmic circle of nature. She knew how to dance it, but I never learned to dance at all.

    I used to love autumn, yes, as a child. I used to spend it with her, the only person I cared about. She loved autumn. She liked it when the leaves got coloured in all different shades of red, yellow and brown. She enjoyed walking through thick carpets of thousands of leaves. She loved hearing the rustling of the dried tree extensions Ė thatís what it used to be for me. She, however, would laugh, the echo of her bell-like voice rising towards the sky. It was a wonderful feeling hearing this sound; it caused a soft, warm ripple to go down my spine.

    But once she stopped laughing she would scold me for being so unimaginative. In these moments, she would say I needed to open my wings to fly away from the stiffness that is earth and life. I needed to feel the enjoyment of what is autumn.

    I tried, but failed. And now that she is no more, autumn no longer holds any attraction.

    It was in autumn that she died.

    And she died because of me.

    So how could I ever enjoy the season that has seen her death?


    Slowly sinking onto his knees, the dark clad man bowed his head over the grave. His eyes were glued to the name on the gravestone:

    Marlene McKinnon
    No longer a mod and no longer in charge of any forums.

    author ~*~ BA banner ~*~ giggler
    Banners by Tiffany and Samarie ^

  5. #5
    Name: Sammy
    House: Toaster
    Title: Untitled
    Word Count: 323
    Authors Note:

    Over the years, you had made many rituals in life. Some would say that those rituals were to provide a false sense of comfort and security in the knowledge that some things never change - albeit a false knowledge. But you know better. These rituals you do not create in an attempt to make your life worth living, more so to make a life at all. Isnít that what your life has become, mechanical?

    One more year has passed and you have barely noticed. The leaves are always yellow and blanket the ground when you visit. The chill in the air a constant reminded that winter can never be kept at bay, the polished white marble always baring the same inscription, as though mocking your pathetic excuse of an existence.

    If you had ever been given a choice, it would be you locked away in those stony walls amid the leaves. You would have perished that fateful night to save a loved one. But when has fate ever been kind enough to you. Your life was lived on other decisions, so why should you death Ė or lack thereof - be any different?

    You kneel down to place the bunch of lilies on the tomb and despite you best efforts; your eyes are automatically drawn to the words.

    The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

    You wonder if Dumbledore had guessed as to what the dramatic quote would mean to you. You also wonder if he had any knowledge of where you went every Halloween eve before the feast. And lastly, you wonder if you care.

    Because the only thing that you can do now - even though itís too late or her - is to fulfill her last wish. You have to destroy death for her, no matter what the cost. Your own life Ė or whatever thatís left of it Ė would be too shamefully small a price to pay in return.

  6. #6
    Name: Mudblood_and_Proud_of_it
    House: Proud Hufflepuff!
    Title: Legend of the Phoenix Dance
    Warnings: None
    Word Count: 343
    Authorís Note:Thanks to Lizzy for the wonderful comments and encouragement!

    Your figure is graceful, your hair is afire. Youíre standing, motionless, in the glowing sunset. Your dress is an autumn gold, your feet the palest white as though they tell of winter snows to come.

    A small smile plays across your open features. Your tree trunk-brown eyes are still, fixed on something farther than the horizon. Your hair blows gently, caressing your poised neck. And yet you are silent but for your light breathing in time with the wind.

    But then you are in graceful, fluid motion, leaping upward and throwing your arms to the sky. Your footsteps crunch slightly on the leaves, but before they can bend with your weight, you are up again in liquid flight.

    Your dance is light, airy, cheerful with whirling arms and flying feet, a smile laughing across your face. But suddenly it is slowing, more deliberate.

    Your arms are drawn upward in a wordless plea, your feet are extended downward, desperate to keep contact with the earth. Your movements are jerky, your body doubled with a pain I cannot feel. Your mouth is open in a silent, stretching scream, and your dance is a seeping, wordless, terrible beauty.

    Again, the dance changes. Your arms and feet speed up, your torso is sliding and twisting as you twirl through the air. This dance is a combination of the other two, desperate, pleading and yet joyful, too. You are moving so fast you are a gold and fire blur, feet flicking and beating the earth in a rapid rhythm.

    But now you take on long leap to the sky, arms outstretched, feet tucked up and land as lightly as a leaf off a tree. You are utterly and completely still; as frozen as you were before the dance.

    And abruptly, in a column of golden fire, you are gone. You are simply a character in the Legend of the Phoenix dance once more, with nothing but a little smoke on the air to show you ever appeared at all.

  7. #7
    Wizengamot Hufflepuff
    Kill the Spare
    Equinox Chick's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2008
    using rare and complicated words
    Name: Equinox Chick
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Season of Mists
    Warnings: Character Death,
    Word Count: 415 (that's the shortest I've ever done!)
    Authors Note: No dialogue and not a song lyric in sight!

    Since September 1981 Molly Weasley had hated autumn. That was the year Bill left to go to Hogwarts. She had watched her eldest child get on the train and mourned. Families around her had joked that the house would be easier with one less Weasley. Behind her back they’d sniggered that when they’d all gone perhaps Molly would buy some new clothes. If Molly overheard she showed no sign. She smiled widely at her son and the smile got wider as year after year she sent her children away.

    Left at home with only Arthur, she’d filled the darkening autumn evenings by writing to children who rarely replied and knitting jumpers they all joked about at Christmas.

    This September should have been her last journey to King’s Cross but she'd stayed away. Ginny had told her not to worry, Harry was taking her and she shouldn’t feel guilty for not leaving the house.

    Molly did not feel guilty; she felt nothing.

    She barely heard her daughter’s words; she’d been gazing at the leaves already turning brown outside her window.

    So silly to call them brown for they weren’t just brown. They were yellow and orange, russet and green, and purple and red. How unimaginative people were when they talked of ‘brown leaves’. It reminded her of the comments about red hair as if the Weasleys were all the same. She smiled to herself. Bill’s hair was red gold, Charlie was a proper carrot top like Arthur, Percy was auburn, Fred - she closed her eyes not liking the order her thoughts were taking - Ron had dark hair the colour of paprika and Ginny’s hair seemed aflame. George-yes she must continue-George had subtle russet glints in his hair whereas Fred...

    Molly ached to remember the lights in his hair because it was the one difference from George; the reason she'd been able to tell them apart when Arthur couldn’t.

    She looked again at the trees outside her bedroom window. Then, for the first time in nearly four months, Molly got up and walked to her kitchen door. She wrenched it open and was hit by the smell of fresh rain and damp earth. Without bothering to put her shoes on she ran outside to the beech tree and caught a leaf that was falling to the ground. Beech leaf- that had been Fred’s colour. She held it to her nose and inhaled the musty scent.

    He was here always, her Fred. The one child who would never leave.

    Banner by the fabulous Julia - theoplaeye

  8. #8
    Sixth Year Hufflepuff
    Seeking Keys
    inspirations's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    in a book <33
    Name: inspirations
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: A Thousand Shades of Brown
    Warnings: None.
    Word Count: 227 (shorter than yours Bine - I beat you - though it's not really a contest ... 'who can write the shortest drabble?' nah - it doesn't really catch on XD)
    Authors Note: 'Autumn' is just hovering in the background. I referenced to the way things are changing quite a few times. Enjoy!

    You walk around the foreign school, day after day. The students of Hogwarts gawp at you every time you walk by Ė all except one.

    Her name is unknown to you, but you know that she hangs around with the youngest champion and a ginger boy regularly. She has bushy brown hair; it has the same variety of shades in it as the leaves littering the ground outside. She spends most of her spare moments in the school library, so you try to as well. Your fan club follows you, and after rolling her eyes, she grabs her books and goes. You donít follow.

    One morning, you sit in the ship, swotting up, when you see her through the window. She strolls amidst the piles of crunchy leaves, kicking them occasionally. Leaves in shades of crimson, chestnut, ebony, that have left behind bare branches. A fine frost covers the ground, but the sun is high in the sky. It frames her perfectly.

    She looks at the boat, straight into your eyes. Her gaze bores into yours for a moment before she continues on her way. She doesnít look back once, but you trail her progress until she disappears from your sight completely. Turning back to your studies, you realise that your heart is beating very fast. Vaguely, you wonder what that means. You think you already know.

  9. #9
    Name: Theworldonlyknows
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Harvest Festival
    Warnings: None
    Word Count: 462
    Authors Note: I hope that this is ok.

    Hermione walked along the blustery High Street of her old town. She was wrapped tightly in her old Gryffindor scarf and a thick grey coat which was needed due to the soreness of her nose and a common cold she insisted on riding out without magic. Her hands wore red gloves but her right hand had the extra warmth of Rose, whose hand was tightly clasped within her mothers. In her other hand Hermione, held a wicker basket covered over the top with cellophane so inside delights such as freshly made jam, whole meal bread and a big bar of chocolate could be seen.

    Rose was attempting to skip ahead, kicking the rusty coloured leaves as she went. Her innocent pleas to go and play in the puddles were consistently and softly declined so a frown was quickly drawn across her face. Hermione smiled down at her daughter and watched her face with intensity. She gave a small smile and used her right hand, still conjoined with Roseís, to brush her daughterís cheek. This produced a reluctant smile, and then a pitifully suppressed giggle. At this Rose began happily dancing and skipping again, with the leaves as her partners.

    Hermione approached a tall hedge, some of the leaves had retained their green vibrancy, but others had turned many shades of golden brown. She gave another small smile as she watched Rose running down the path chasing after some of the leaves and saw that her little pink Wellington boots became covered in little shards of freshly cut grass as she went. Hermione quickly followed, the basket clutched in her fingers. As she caught up to Rose she pressed an index finger to her mouth and ushered her inside the tall beautifully decorated building.

    As they both entered Hermione heard the old school hymn she used to sing in Primary school, ĎAutumn Days,í and the memories of old Harvest Festivals came rushing back. She searched the pews for her parents and quickly found them, sitting at the back, next to the bell ringers. Hermione gave Rose a little push in the direction of her parents and as soon as Rose saw her Granddad she ran towards him and gave him a huge lovable hug. Following her daughter Hermione, sat down after greeting her parents and handed the basket to Rose who was relentlessly attempting to sing. Rose nodded her head enthusiastically after being given the basket and ran down the centre of the pews to hand the basket to the Priest.

    Harvest Festival was the only service Hermione had ever enjoyed attending. The church was always decorated beautifully by the pupils of her old primary school and by giving just a simple basket she felt that an old tradition has just been upheld.

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