(a short story I won second prize for in a contest on Writerscafe.org. Enjoy.)
"I have wished to know how the stars shine..."
The professor took off his glasses and spent some time buffing them in front of the silent group of students. Peering at the spectacles critically, the tall, thin man set the glasses back on his nose and looked over the rims at his audience. “That is the phrase by which you will enter into the realm of creative writing,” he continued. A few groans could be heard, though in the dimly lit seats the issuers were safe from identification. The professor’s eyes narrowed, a little.
“No variations, no improvising the words… begin your story with this sentence and surprise me. Thrill my gray cells with just one, common sentence to start your story. Due Monday, no exceptions… not even for death.” The last statement brought a few, nervous giggles from shadows.The professor closed his laptop, signaling the end of class.
Eleanor stood up from her seat, slinging her carryall over one shoulder. She trudged up the aisle along with the others, as entrenched in same pensive silence as they.
“I have wished to know how the stars shine?” she thought, her eyebrows drawn. “The stars are balls of burning gas, most of which have already burned out long ago…” Perhaps the professor deemed the phrase a‘poetic’ statement, if so then why must the students begin their story thusly? “A waste of the hook space,” Eleanor muttered to herself as she made her way through the halls of the university. The first line in the first sentence of a story is the most important, followed only in importance by the next sentence, in order to snag and then draw in the reader.
Eleanor sighed.
“It’s not like its some great epic,” she mused, silently. “It’s just a class assignment.” The corner of her mouth lifted a little at the idea. “It will be forgotten in a week...” Bearing this in mind, she traveled to the library and sat in front of the computer for some moments, wondering where to begin. Her fingers curved over the keyboard, Eleanor began typing in ‘stars’ in the search engine. She stopped and erased the word. A student of science, it would be all too easy to turn this creative writing piece into a thinly-veiled study on the chemical makeup of celestial bodies. Glaring at the computer screen, Eleanor realized the austere Professor of the Literature Arts was probably not as interested in how the stars shine, but rather was referring to the poetic wondering itself.
Leaving the computer, Eleanor took her bag of books and vacated the library altogether. There was nothing remarkable about the young woman’s face to suggest an epiphany; she walked to her bicycle as she did each day, her movements careful and habitual. The wind rode with her as she soared down the straight, narrow road behind the university;it leveled out as the ocean came into view, extending past the neat rows of town homes until it touched the sky, far away. Sunset descended on the beach, bathing the sand in orange and red tones; Eleanor leaned her bicycle against a lonely, stunted tree and smiled at the water. She sat down in the sand; it was yet warm, a last blessing from the fleeing sun.
(continued in comments below due to character limit...)
