Hello there - I tried myself on the exercise. Please note, that I originally wrote it in German and translated t then to English. So there might be some weird sounding passages :)

A starry night like no other

The wind roared across the sky. It piled up fibrous clouds into truly picturesque wave formations.

The starlight refracted in their swirls, and so the silver glow spread like liquid light over the land,

dark in the night. The mountains in the distance gleamed silver, standing out against the velvet-blue night sky.

The cool air played a soft melody in the trees, grass and bushes. Dogs, foxes and even a little owl joined in every now and then.

A group of tall trees stretched towards the dancing clouds, and through the silvery, glittering tips of their leaves, it looked as if they were swaying with their own lights in the heavenly dance, as if they were competing with the stars in the airy breeze. 

The village lay quietly amidst all the wonderful natural splendour. The roofs were motionless, the church tower tall and proud. No breath of wind made it sway. No gust made its bells ring. Only the starlight was allowed to shimmer on it. If only because it had no other choice. Neither one nor the other.

Even the golden light behind the windows eluded the wind chime. 

It had no choice but to whirl up the dust from the alleyways in front of the glass barriers, conjuring

a golden glow in front of the walls. The interior remained untouched. The people in the houses were not aware of the beauty. They occasionally heard the mournful howling in their cosy fireplaces. Perhaps a shower of sparks, if an overly cheeky breath of air made it all the way down. Then there was a flurry of activity and cursing. No thanks to the beauty of the night.

Only the lonely hiker, who was watching the scene from high up on the mountain, was aware of all the splendour. The howling of the wind between the houses – where, frustrated at being excluded from everywhere, it raged rather than danced. It interrupted the lovely sound of the night-time symphony. It disturbed the grace of the nocturnal ensemble.

So, despite the golden glow, it remained a disturbance in the overall picture of the night. And even the dogs that lived there joined in with the wind's wailing from time to time. Freedom – they cried. Freedom, thought the night-time wanderer, and followed the path down to the village.

 

 

I also tried myself on the "ordinary situation with an unordinary twist. Enjoy:

“Hello?”  

“Mephisto, is that you?”  

“Yes.”  

“Lucifer here.”  

“Ah, Lucifer. How are you?”  

“Good, thanks. Got a moment?”  

“Yes. Go ahead.”  

“Well,” Lucifer hesitates, clears his throat, and continues, “you know my son, Pan.” 

 Mephisto nods, though Lucifer can’t see it.  

“The boy is an avid soccer player.”  

Mephisto is surprised. “Really?” he blurts out.  

“Yes, really.” Lucifer sounds like someone who has said these words many times before. 

 “Is he any good?”  

“Not bad at all. Actually, really good.” Pride rings in the dad’s voice, and Mephisto grins. 

 Lucifer continues: “Like I said, he loves it and is one of the best players on the school team.”  

“What position?” Mephisto is curious now; this is surprising news, after all.  

“Right wing, but that’s not the point.”  

“Then what is?”  

“They kicked him off the team.”  

“What?” Mephisto struggles to follow the conversation. “But you said he was one of the best players!”  

“Yes, exactly.” Lucifer takes a breath. “They say,” he clears his throat, “well, they say that—it’s called *foot*ball, they argue, and... and... well, Pan just happens to have...” 

 “Oh, I see. The hooves.” Mephisto helps his friend out.  

“Exactly.” Lucifer swallows hard. “So they say he isn’t allowed to play because he doesn’t have feet.” There, it was out.  

Mephisto does not say anything in return.  

“Are you still there?”  

“Yeah, sure.” He considers his next words. “So you’re saying they’re discriminating your son because of his...” Mephisto clears his throat, “...physical difference?”  

Lucifer laughs: “Nicely put. That’s about it.”  

Mephisto rubs his chin—something Lucifer can’t see, either.  

Then he asks: “Michael and Pandora’s son, the little... ah, what’s his name again?” 

 “Christo,” Lucifer says.  

Mephisto laughs: “Right, Christo. I wonder what Mik’s boss thinks about that!”  

Both laugh. “He was always a pleaser if it came to the Old Man, was he not?”  

“The boy plays on the school team, too, doesn’t he? I heard that little Christo currently thinks he’s Bastet.”  

“Bastet?”  

“Yeah, the Egyptian cat Goddess — you know, slanted green eyes, a bushy tail on her backside, and...” Mephisto grins, “...paws!”  

Lucifer sighs and shakes his head—though Mephisto doesn’t see that.  

Mephisto continues triumphantly: “That means either he has to leave the team too, or Pan gets to play again.”  

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Christo only *thinks* he’s Bastet. So he still has feet, even if he wishes they were paws.”  

Mephisto scratches his head. “Ah, damn, that’s right.”  

 

A brief silence. Then Lucifer asks: “Don’t you have any idea how my boy could play again? It’s not just that they’ve lost every damn game since he was kicked off. The little guy is really sad, and Lilith is going to make my life hell if I don’t find a way to get him back on the team.”  

He adds under his breath: “But I’m not allowed to cause any damage to the school or sacrifice any teachers in the process.”  

Mephisto laughs. “I know the feeling. My dear Fortuna is very strict about that sort of thing, too. She can easily choose, not to bring any good luck for a lifetime to any poor soul she dislikes. But if I want to try using bad luck, then that’s considered immoral.” 

 Lucifer doesn’t see the air quotes Mephisto makes with his fingers around the last word, but he can clearly hear them.  

Both grin. “The girls.” They smile.  

“So, friend. How can I help?” Mephisto now sounds eager for action, sensing a bit of mischief in the air.  

“I was thinking maybe you had one or two sinister lawyers in your grip right now.”  

He pauses briefly. “Ideally, the kind who know their way around this newly invented inclusion stuff. You know the sort.”  

Mephisto takes on a dreamy expression. He sighs: “Ah, inclusion. Truly devilish stuff. Tell me, Lucifer, why didn’t we ever come up with something like that?”  

Luzifer shrugs. “You know we were never as inventive as humans when it comes to what they do to each other.”  

“Yeah, it’s wild. You really don’t want to mess with them.”  

“Yeah, the old gods and demons knew what they were doing when they fled to other worlds. Only the Old Man upstairs—he was pretty late making his escape.”  

“I do miss him, in a way. It was more fun back when you had real opponents. Nowadays everyone is so easily being corrupted.”  

Both wear wistful expressions, lost for a moment in their own nostalgic thoughts.  

“So?” asks Lucifer. “Do you have someone who can help?”  

“Do you already have something specific in mind? Some kind of solution?”  

Lucifer grins: “I was thinking of changing the name.”  

“Which name?”  

“Football, of course.”  

“You want to rename the world’s most popular game?” Mephisto’s voice carries not just disbelief, but a good dose of admiration.  

“Well, that’s their reasoning. My son isn’t allowed to play because it’s called *football*, but he doesn’t have any feet. So, if the game had a different name, he could play again, right?”  

Mephisto laughs so loud that he chokes and has to cough hard into the receiver.  

Wiping tears from his face, he chuckles: “Wonderful! Simply wonderful!”  

He composes himself. “Do you happen to have a name for it yet?”  

“Well, yeeeah,” Mephisto can hear the wicked grin, “Twenty-two beings moving a ball along using the body parts they use to move themselves across the ground.”  

Lucifer waits expectantly.  

Silence on the other end of the line.  

“Hello? Mephisto?”  

“Catchy. Positively memorable.”  

A pause.  

“Tell me, wouldn’t it be more correct to say *beings* and *she-beings*?”  

Now it is Lucifer who laughs until tears run down his cheeks.  

“She-beings! Brilliant! Can you have your lawyers look into that? You surely have some who are still trying to save their souls, right?”  

Mephisto grins. “Sure. I’ve got a few candidates. Leave it with me. I’ll put it to them, and in a week or two, your little guy will be playing again. Okay?”  

“Oh, thank you, my friend. That really means a lot to me! If there’s anything I can do for you...”  

“No problem,” Mephisto interrupts, “only the best for our little ones. Who knows—someday we might have to take the downfall of humanity into our own hands again after all. We’ll need our future for that.”  

Lucifer expresses his thanks, and just before they hang up, Mephisto hears his friend’s chuckle: “She-beings. Amazing!”  

Two weeks later, the verdict is handed down. In the interest of inclusion—and to ensure that absolutely no one has to feel excluded anymore—the sport may no longer be called "football" (or "soccer") effective immediately.  

While the game remains fundamentally unchanged, it is henceforth to be known as "Twenty-two beings—male and female—propelling a ball (or 'ball-ess') using the body part or parts that predominantly serve for their own locomotion on the ground."  

In addition, training courses have been established to instruct sports reporters and news anchors accordingly.