Ahhhhh I nearly forgot about this! Sorry for the delay, people!

Honorable mentions (in no attention to order):

Celine! An unexpected surprise that you did it in poetry, but a welcome surprise nontheless. The way you used the metro as a springboard/synonym for more abstract ideas is very intresting! It feels like the metro is a synonym for life and time, how it keeps going on and on without a return ticket? Well... that's just me thinking about things, great job on the poetry!

Moon Wolf! I've read some of your works and one thing that struck me is that your poetry never seems to come out forced. I especially like the way this one has a slight emotional rise all the way, with everything starting out not bleak, but still sort of drabby in tone, but the world continues to saturate with details like the 'soft plink of a coin', until you can almost feel the color flush in at the ending line. Captivating.

Silver Crystal! What stands out in your work(to me) is the main idea that penetrates the passage from head to tail, 'humans are not meant to be underground'. I like that you animated the common methods of transport in life. It makes everything so much more relatable, and it sets up a clash with the metro, that only exists underground. The last bit really gives people something to think about too.

Third place: Ultimatium! The one thing that struck a key with me here is the striking diffrence between your passage and others: how sterile and cold the metro feels instead of the normal crowded approach(which reminds me of the subway over at my corner of the world), and the subtle sensation of loneliness. It feels like a beginning to a story of some sort, and it raises questions about why people are all avoiding the perspective character. 

Second place: Poinsettia! I struggled and I struggled with this decision; both you and Pangolin did an incredible job of describing the NYC's subway system! The first sentence is already a good hook: 'The subway was nothing more than a case containing a seething mass of people, and it wasn't a very comfortable case at that.' And the selection of details, and the very resonating episode of the dud MetroCard all served to mold out the world of the subway. The way you can combine thoughts with description is eye-catching.

First: Pangolin! Wow, wow, wow. I don't even know what I should say about the feat of managing to describe everything a writer would need when they want to write a scene about the underground. If there is anything to say, I would want to talk about your incredible transitions between scenes. They're subtle yet to the point, and it's mindblowing how seamlessly you can pull the reader from the ground to the station and into the metro in one flourish. You're the next judge!

And now, after that not-so-good complimenting, I shall head to my retreat where I shall mull over all your works with jealousy while wondering when I can improve my writing to the extent that it's readable...

The soft pitter-patter sound of raindrops can be heard. A steady, gentle drizzle falling to the ground. The sky is a light gray-blue, the color that promises sunshine shortly. And soon, it is seen that indeed, the sun has come back, as the rain slowly ceases.

Upon the horizon is a faint city in the distance, shimmery gray buildings reflecting the sun against the freshly fallen rain. A gray cloud of smog engulfs the city, like a tiger protectively guarding their den. And some may wonder, How can it be that some call this city their home? But with a closer look, beneath all that smog, is a bustle of people getting from one place to another, busy cafes serving orders of coffee, its bittersweet and all-too-familiar fragrance, several pizzerias and other restaurants, with mouth-watering and enticing scents drawing you closer, shops with fresh linen clothing and leather purses displayed behind a fingerprint-smudged window, along with all sorts of city scenery sights. This is a home to many, who enjoy the activity and commotion of an urban city, with parents accompanying their kids to the park, old people resting on the benches, feeding the gray pigeons that wander by, and the general excitement in the air.

However, some may enjoy a more peaceful and rural home, where there are less crowds and everything you eat off the plate is fresh and homegrown. Fields of endless green pastures are seen for miles, all stil dotted with fresh dew from that morning's rain. Milky-white cows with black splotches on their back like dark ink placidly chew on the grass, while a shepherd dog is seen herding the sheep back to the gates. The fresh breeze of the countryside flows through the land, with the blades of grass waving underneath the wind's touch. 

Still others may enjoy a mix of both, a suburban home. A typical neighborhood, with many houses, along with trees, all overlooking a field of green just outside, speckled with rain. Clouds drift by lazily above, and the nearest grocery store is only a mile's walk. A school is close by, where a bell can be heard ringing, signaling to the students that school's finally ended and that they may all return home. Wherever you look, you can see shades of gray and brick-red, accompanied by bits of green and brown, from an assortment of nearby trees and bushes.

But for a select few, the forest is another home. The lush canopy of the forest rustles against the wind, still wet from the morning's drizzle. Birds can be heard chirping on the branches, and squirrels chittering and scurrying up the trees into their hollows. This is the wilderness, where the local animals call their home. Towering tree trunks cast dark shadows against the ground, and a clear blue river winds through the forest like a snake. Ripples can be seen from fish swimming through the current. And all sorts of predators are lurking beneath the shadows...

Whichever one you prefer, it is still home. Homes of all shapes and sizes. Homes of all shades and colors. The creatures that live on planet Earth are diverse, with a wide range of differences, but we all need a place to call home.

~~

It's a bit different from my usual style, if you could tell, and a bit long. But it was pretty fun to write! 

Wow, third place, thanks so much! It's my first time getting into the top three in any contest on the CB, and I wasn't trying very hard <3 Anywho, next theme! I really need to level up my writing efficency and skill if my stories are going to be able to solidify.

And I have no idea what abomination I just created. 

///////////

The writer's home is a curious one. The walls are mostly white, though some tend to prefer rice-colored or green wallpapers instead, and the inside is a labyrinth of corridors and numbered doorways, or so they say. You have yet to see any doors just yet.

The writer is enthusiastic to show you around. You stare around in curiosity as they drag you through the maze of hallways, heavily cloaked with scarlet carpets and ornamental tapestries, with flickering candles sitting on golden stands lighting the way. The wavering light casts dark shadows in the corners, where you can hear the pitter-patter of small creatures as they scurry about, and there is a subtle scent of damp mold in the air. This part of the house is a pain to maintain, your guide grumbles as they carefully put the arm of a rusty suit of armor back to its spot, but they say it with a remeniscent smile. It was built when they didn't have much skill.

You soon begin to see the first doors in the walls, each with a styled black number. This one was the first room they built, a terrible bedroom, your guide says, pointing to a shabby birch door nearly invisible in the shadows with the number 1 on it. It is plastered up with yellow caution tape. Better that you never see what it looks like, they say as they pull you away before you can ask any questions.

The halls begin to lighten up with electric lights as you proceed further into the house, and your guide starts showing you some rooms, who opens the doors with a heavy bunch of slender silver keys. Room 23 opens to a midnight forest clearing, complete with smouldering campfire and chirping cicadas. Room 36 is a refurbished version of room 1, the writer admits sheepishly, allowing you a peek at a luxurious bedroom with a king-sized bed. There is bright sunlight shining in from a slit in the velvety curtains, allowing stray dust to twinkle brightly in the beams. Room 41 is an airy golden ballroom, empty of life. You listen as haunting piano music glides through the open space, and suddenly feel an urge to dance. And this is their current and also proudest work, the writer confides, grabbing onto your shoulder as they yank open room 56, and you feel the breath being torn out of your lungs as you look, bewildered, at the door that opens into a blue sky. You squint to look, and the distance you can see a majestic city floating in midair, made out of buildings with graceful curves and leaping arches, accented by a bright halo of sunlight and a skirt of puffy clouds.

After that breathtaking scene, the writer continues down the halls. They have began to lose their color somewhat, and seem flimsy and white. The next few rooms are for storage, and the writer explains intresting tidbits of their design as you study dusty knitting kneedles, moth-bitten robes, vintage toy cars, and more tons of bric-a-brac that one day shall need taking out, putting back in, pushing somewhere else, and reusing.

Then you raise your head and the writer has vanished, bringing along with them the halls and the rooms and the keys, leaving you standing in a empty world of white, and you realize the sudden emptiniess that has now filled the space the writer has taken up. And you smile.

Free real estate is free real estate, after all. 

And somewhere in the corner of a dusty library, in face of a moldy notebook flipped to the last page, you pick up a pen and begin to build your own house.

------- 

And yep, my mind had to base this off my writing notebook, (and I think some in my RP will recognize Jenseng,) but the basis isn't exact. For one thing, my notebook isn't moldy.

alright cool i'll try my hand at one of these. theme is home, cool