The Change - By Andre Ornelas

July 31st, 2025

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And there began another beginning, once more another middle, and another ending to yet another chapter of life for the young one. Now older with new experiences, he sees what he has created and sees that it was old but still valued in high regards.

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Philip, a young man known to be kind hearted to many, set his writing utensils to the side of the desk and read out loud what he had written.

"The meadow gave a sense of softness not found in the world today. No frustrations were found in the green grass, nor any disruption in the seas of clouds in the perfect blue horizon. The breath of air signified what all need, and oh, the flowers that filled it's audience with the sense that..." he interrupts himself, questioning what the answer should be.

He looked out the window at the city. There were many on their phones, answering calls to only God knows what, others simply listening to music, some taking pictures with loved ones, and other retreating to navigated destinations.

The city was covered with greys, reds, browns; all the things he'd like to reject his characters to. He returned his eyes to the little notebook and closed the little string that held it tightly together. It was a medium size brown spiral notebook he had bought before school, and now, having graduated, continued to be a source to write his stories.

Preparing a backpack for the day, he puts the notebook in the front pocket, a few pens and pencils in a container snug to the right side of his bag, and his point and shoot the big middle section of the backpack. He places a brown hat on his head, compliments himself in the mirror, and heads downstairs of his living arrangement to the front of the building.

The city boomed with noise.

People complaining about politics, cars zooming through the road, blaring music from nearby street performers, it didnt bother Philip at all.

"Mornin' Philip!" shouted Mrs. Fitzgerold from the second floor, airing out a carpet she was cleaning. Philip looked up and smiled

"Good Morning, Mrs. Fitz, you doing alright?"

"I'm doing peachy love, I have some extra pies left from today's bake. I left some for you in the bakery if you'd like to take some home."

Philip looks at the decently run bakery next to him. The window showed pink, orange, and yellow pastries and sweets displayed. He waves at Mr. Fitzgerold, helping someone frosting a cake. Mr. Fitzgerold smiles and gives a gentle nod.

"The cakes are over there with your name on them!" as he points to a little box near the corner of the cashier.

"Take the on your back back."

"I will." Philip responds as he continues his walk.

After a few minuetes of what felt like half an hour, he stopped to look at a crack in between two neatly tight buildings. The slit between them was dark, but he could have sworn there was a sliver of light. He had seen the slither one day returning from the library as he was researching for story ideas. It had blinked at him in a hypnotic fashion and left him standing paralysed, as if it was signalling him for something greater than he could experience. After a few moments, it was gone, and his trance had went astray.

Now, once he passes that point, he sits near a bench on the other side of the road and waits for the same sliver of light to return. Hoping something new would happen.

But nothing ever did, no matter what time he'd visit it.

"I see you everyday and yet it remains the same."

"I know there is promise, but what is it?"

Philip finds himself muttering the thought every now and again. He opens a new page of his notebook and begins to sketch the buildings with an oveal like gap in the middle. Some days he would draw monstrous figures emerging from the crack, other times he would chicken scratch divine beings that came to assist humanity.

It was getting late in the day, and Philip found himself watching the sunset smuggle its way to the crack. The orange light captivated his gaze, and Philip began he feel his eyes droop. He had been busy with the new story; he'd forgotten what sleep was for the last three days as he stressed in writing the story he would submit for school.

He woke up to a leaf that dropped to his face from the tree behind him. Checking his watch, he realized that it was 7:00 PM, and the bakery was going to close soon. He gathered his pencil, which had dropped to the floor, and gathered his things.

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Andre finished writing on his computer, realizing his story wasn't going anywhere.

And here is where the idea has reached its "what can I do here?" moment.

Where could this story go, and what changes could be made?

Maybe Philip realizes there was a similar crack near the bakery, and the cracks lead to alternate locations? But how would those cracks work? Are they sentient beings that the more you enter them, the more the beings can manipulate the person's decisions?

Why is the title of the story The Change?

These are why certain entries have not made it, I have no structure in mind sometimes. Let me know what you would do with the story above!