Deadline for art is November Tenth! Any story submitted after Nov. 3rd or artwork posted after Nov. 10 will not be considered.

Are you still there? Also, just to let you know, I'm going to be on a class camping trip from November 7th-11th. . . I hope that doesn't complicate anything

So... Have you started writing the story? I would love to see what you have so far.

Okay, tomorrow I'll post what I have so far. (I'm embarassed to say that today I only have a paragraph today.)

EEEEK Homework! I'm sorry, I promise to post my Work in Progress tomorrow. Meanwhile, here are a few sentences:

Terrence was tired. Not overwhelmed, that had been Thursday. Not exhausted, that hat been Thursday too. No, Terrence was the sort of lazily pleasant tired that you feel when you've finished an extremely stressful  project, and now have nothing urgent to do. Because that was exactly the situation he was in. He'd stayed up until 11:00 Thursday night working on a map of US power plants. Friday, he'd had to go to school. But today.... Today he was free. 

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THIS!!!!!!

Oh my goodness, you guys, I am so sorry for not posting on this. Last night, I realized that I still haven't written something for this, and sat down revise my short story. Clouded, the picture is so amazing!!!! Perfect! I'm so sorry for not being around, and I hope I can still compete...... *sniffles*

Here's the edited story.

A long time ago, when the Earth was young and fresh, the human race had a problem. 

These early men and women had food and shelter but these things were acquired by some primitive animal instinct. Men would run after rabbits, and strangle them with their hands, then only be rewarded with a small morsel for their trouble. Families would huddle under trees to try to take shelter from the elements. They were slowly dying out, and only one thing prevented them from thriving. For, in those dark days, our ancestors had no imagination. 

This kept them from thinking of ideas such as tools, weapons, or houses. They did not think to harness fire to their will, and so, without cooked meat, many died of starvation. They had no stories, no songs, nothing to encourage each other or pass the long evenings with. 

Humans would have continued like this, eventually dying out from hunger and lack of shelter, if it were not for a young boy.

He had no name; indeed, how could a people without words give names? Instead, he was known by his deep blue eyes, and the hawk feather that hung from his glossy black hair. He was different from the other children, in that he could often be found wandering the woods instead of hunting, pulled by some irresistible urge to explore. 

One day, the boy was running through the forest, when he felt a soft breeze blowing through his hair. It stirred the leaves around him, and seemed to beckon him. Intrigued, he softly stepped after it, heart beating with a strange and wild excitement. 

He walked for days. His feet grew red and sore, his eyes drooped with exhaustion, and his stomach growled with hunger. Yet he would not give up, because the stirring in his heart was growing stronger the nearer he got to his destination. 

Finally, after a long time, he pushed back some branches and found what he had been looking for. 

Perched on a branch was a bird too beautiful for words. Its feathers glimmered brighter than any rainbow, its beak gleamed gold, and its eyes were chips of obsidian. It fixed the boy in its hypnotic gaze, and spoke. "Greetings, human. I have been waiting for you. Don't stand there like I am some wild beast about to pounce on you, for indeed, I have called you here to give you a gift. I shall tell you a great secret." The boy made a half-strangled noise of surprise. The bird flapped its wings and, flying to the boy's shoulder, whispered its secret in his ear. The boy's eyes widened, and his heart began to beat with a new and renewed pulse. His head reeled with possibilities, fluttering around wildly in a swirling mass. He looked up at the bird for a moment..... then fell backwards, overwhelmed by exhaustion and ideas. The bird bent over him, and said "Boy, when your people invent language, they will give each other names. I give you yours now. Go and spread imagination, Qui Somniat." As the bird flew away, leaving the unconscious boy on the forest floor, it smiled to itself. Someday, in the future, thanks to Qui, a great civilization called Rome would rise up, and speak a language called Latin. In that language, Qui Somnait means "one who dreams" 

As the bird disappeared over the horizon, one thought flashed through its mind. And so everything comes full circle, and the human race lives on.  

@Scylla-

I'm just going to go with my original story. Writing a different one didn't work out, and since the deadline is pretty soon, I hope you can just go with my story. There's a part or two that don't require foxes or bears, and so....

I'll post it tomorrow or Sunday, if I can.