I'm extending the deadline to Febuary 22 since there aren't any submissions. If anyone wants to join, this is the time to do it.

There haven't really been any new submissions, so if anybody would like to join, feel free to do so! If not, that's alright. 

Ok, here it is:

The falcon, perched on a branch, watched. Watching was its life. It watched the mouse dart over the field. It didn't dive for that mouse, it wouldn't do such a thing. No, it would watch...and wait. Who was that sad old thing watching for, I don't know. Its eyes tell of something ancient, something forgotten. 

Every day of the second Great War I would walk to the garden; past the school, the library, to Mrs. Warner Schmidzt house. She would give me tea and something from her garden, and I would sit on her porch, watching the falcon. Sometimes, it would cry out. Maybe, many years ago it had lost, lost something. But I did not know. Maybe I never would. 

After years and years, that falcon flew away, maybe to lay down its life, or for some other reason. But I thought about it for years and years. I am an old man now, but I have not forgotten it. I live in the Schmidzt household, for the old lady gave it to me four years ere she died, and go out to the garden every day.

Every day, too, do I walk through the neighborhood, and though I know that falcon isn't alive anymore, I hope. Its beauty encouraged me, gave me hope, but I do not know why. Why does something so forlorn give me energy, and courage? Maybe it had hope, so I, too, could hope yet for better days. For the war is over now, but still, occasionally I become afraid. But I think of the falcon, and what hardships a bird must endure before its life ends, and I can face fear, and conquer it. THE END 

So, that's it. I hope ya like it.