The Day

This is a response to a writing prompt for Round 2 of the 15M competition on r/writingprompts. You can see my round 1 entry here.

Snow is thick around them, frost piled high as their knees in spots less trodden. Brutal wind chills the team as they work. A flickering torch is the only source of light, guarded on all sides by their bodies. The Winter is wild and dark, denying any semblance of warmth. There are five of them. There used to be more, but now there are five.

Long ago this place had been the site of a great device. A marvel of engineering beyond anything now. But the device's completion hadn't been soon enough, a competing device had beaten it.

They'd consulted the documents. The purpose of the device was clear, as well as how to finish it. However, it would require materials no longer available. They had arguments that were bitter and caustic, fueled by desperation and fear. Something had to be done, but there wasn't anyone who was happy with how.

But those quarrels were long ago, when their numbers and bodies were stronger. All they have now is their grim plan and memories. They are old, and they remember the Fall tearing the green out of nature with frostbite, the ground hiding forever in snow, and the chilled famine. All caused because this device hadn't been the first.

The whipping gale blasts their faces without mercy. The great device has been worked on for years, and only now is it becoming complete. They huddle around a protruding section of it, bearing witness to the final piece being put into place. In another time they would have been called mad, but here there is nobody who can call over the howling wind.

A crystal of ice, as that is the only crystal left to them, is placed into the center of the protrusion. A hatch door shuts quickly after to avoid contamination via snow. They stand there in the slicing windchill reflecting on the significance of their plans, hesitating because of it.

The flaming torch flickers out, plunging them into the pitch blackness, the cue to make their way into the building. Like a blessing the wind is cut off, leaving only bitter cold to dig under their raw skin. They tense and shiver against the memory of being outside, shedding the misery off in layers.

Inside there is a fire, controlled to not burn their work. The fire is pathetic, wood scarce in their immediate area after years of collection. Nevertheless, it burns with enough warmth to think, and enough light for conversation.

"Are we really doing this?"

"Yeah. Come on. Let's set up."

With nothing left to say between them the leader goes to the breaker switch. The others go to their stations. They've drilled this procedure hundreds of times, past the point of automation. Even so they are gripped with fear; the generator has only enough power for a single attempt, and their drills had to be practiced without it.

A countdown begins and the team tenses, frost-cracked hands rest on the first steps in their respective tasks. Winter thrashes into the building, haunting with ice and darkness and wind, a promise of what awaits them should they fail.

The countdown ends and the switch goes down. They witness electricity for the first time in decades: Small lights flicker, screens flash, familiar hums of motors, the roaring of fans. All at once the fire is no longer the sole source of light. They are stunned into memories but only for a second, forced to focus instead on the coda of their final project.

A great device awakens around them. It groans in fatigue as long dormant mechanics move. Ad-hoc additions strain against the pressure. Buttons are pressed, vitals checked, and irrevocable actions are taken.

Upon the far wall lays a projection of the sky. Not a single eye strays from this picture, except in moments where it must consult its screen. The enemy, the Winter, falls onto the upward facing camera that captures the video.

There is a moment of chilled silence as they all await the final call from the leader. No objections are raised, no failing vitals terrifying enough to halt the process. With a single barked word they activate the device.

They freeze in anticipation, adrenaline rooting them to the spot. There is no indication that significant action has been taken. No sound beyond the normal, no light beyond the extraordinary products of the electricity.

Then the video feed shows a blue beam being fired into the night sky. It illuminates the falling snow around it with its intense glow. Before it makes impact, however, the power drains to its last and they are thrown out of their projected image.

They run outside, snow crunching under their boots, wind in their faces, eyes upwards towards the sky. Their emaciated bodies hardly noticing the cold, instead choosing to focus on the spectacle of their labor.

Arcs of dazzling blue lines worm through the clouds, multiplying and spreading far past the horizon. In the center, at the point of impact, the density is at its peak. Something like thunder booms loud, shaking the ground with its gravity.

In that moment, after the thunder, everything falls silent. The wind calms in its driving force, leaving the sound of every living thing holding its breath. The streaks of the device's chaotic efforts multiply out.

Then, cutting through the miasma of Winter like a scalpel, the first ray of sunlight shines. It frames itself in the backdrop of the electrified sky and hangs there, resolute, the herald of a long beloved banished king.

And so the king comes, rending apart the clouds. Pockets of light grow and connect to other pockets, revealing the brilliant blue that was only spoken of in memories. Color, actual color, returns to the sky in streaks of pink and blue.

Soon the growing pockets of light are too numerous to escape. The sun once again falls on the faces of the team, revealing its glory in blazing triumph.

The ground becomes illuminated around them, producing a visibility that the eternal Winter would have never allowed. They are bathed in light, not the light of a fire, but the light of the heavens. Like returning from a nightmare the Winter eases its cruel grip.

The bright sun hangs in the sky in ardent ferocity, driving away the ceaseless cold. The heat of its rays begin to penetrate the Earth below, already getting soaked into the frost. Casual, easy, warmth strikes the Earth once again.

Some fall to the ground sobbing, others stand and clench their fists. None are without awe. None are without amazement at what they have wrought. The Winter is fading around them, finally the Winter is leaving. The sun will melt the ice and they will have Spring.

The final streaks of blue worms fade, leaving to travel to other skies and other people. In their wake they leave the morning sun. After years of preparation, the Day has finally come, and it was warm.

Postmortem:

I lost with this story, and with good reason: It's not as good as my round 1 entry. With round 1 I brought my absolute A game, and was proud of the story. With this round I tried to do the same, but what I ended up with instead was a much less well executed, far less clever, generic pedestrian mess. I was not proud of this story the way I was round 1's, even while submitting it.

That's not just me being doom and gloom about my poor results, either (I didn't even get in the top 3 of my heat). While voting was happening I reread this story a couple times, and I realized that it just wasn't good. There are some pearls here and there in it, but as a whole it lacks the impact of my round 1 entry.

I predicted my poor placement in advance, which means that my "how good is my story" scale is well calibrated enough to be useful for predictions. Even though I lost, and that sucks, I can at least come away with the knowledge that I can trust my intuitive standards to tell me when I've done something wrong.

What exactly went wrong? I leaned too heavily on the Epic Moment(tm) writing part of my brain while neglecting my other (much stronger) strengths. This would have been a good practice story to build up those lacking strengths, but as an entry to a competition that I wanted to win I should have played more to my best abilities. I got stuck on this idea of a super "serious" story, and I forgot that I'm far better when I allow a bit of levity into it.

Being original and surprising is, in my opinion, one of the most important things for a story. Especially in a competition where you're all but explicitly graded on how much you stand out from the crowd. If you aren't communicating something interesting, why are you even communicating at all?

This story is one I've heard before. In a hundred different tales there's a struggle against nature, in a million more there's allegories to the sun rising bringing a new beginning. Everyone knows personifying nature as angry and oppressive is a common trope.

If I learn one thing from this competition it's that I should lean much harder on my originality muscles. I knew these things explicitly going into the competition, and yet I somehow forgot it when writing this story. I need to have the courage to discard ideas that are good in some ways, but bad in others.

Alas, all I can do is better.