AN: So here's a challenge I came up with, inspired by an instruction my third grade teacher gave my class while teaching us about paragraphs. She said, "...and never use the same word twice in a paragraph," right at the end of all her other notes, like it was silly rule nobody followed (and it is, thank goodness). I remember sitting there in my third grade desk, thinking it was impossible.

So here you go, after my blood, sweat, and tears, I've taken my best oneshot and rewritten it without using the same word twice in a paragraph.

Rules:

1. Never use the same word twice in a paragraph. Exceptions: All dialogue, and the words 'the', 'a', 'and', 'an'. (Dialogue is exempt because you can't expect your characters to watch what they say because of some silly restriction you put on the narration of their story.)

2. The goal is to have a smooth reading oneshot in the end, so give it your best and find the most fitting synonyms/rewordings. And proofread for sentence fluency as much as possible.

Monsters Don't Shake Your Hand

The night was clear, stars like broken embers overhead. I leaned against the cold stone and flipped an old bone over with numb hands. Gyp the dog wagged and waited beside my worn down shoes, eager for me to begin the game again.

It was early in the morning, the sky coloring purple. The chill had sunken down through cloth and numbed the first few layers of skin. Moving felt stiff, and I struggled to warm the brick wall patch serving as a prop for my weary skeleton, the perpetually cold stone frigid at the touch.

Huddled over by the circus tent, the trio of fangirls whispered eagerly about the latest contestant. With scarf wreathed faces they rubbed hands together to keep fingers unfrozen. Me, I'd given up that battle long ago. My body didn't shiver anymore, forsook attempts at staying warm. Because in the end, cold would come, effort or none.

Gyp seemed plenty warm, steam curling from a lolling tongue while the hound patiently awaited the inevitable throw of the bone. I'd been up for hours granting that very wish. Things were colder outside, but simpler too. With less people came more silence. And eventually, those fangirls would leave, and then it'd only be a grungy-looking youth and a street mutt, boy drawn towards dog by the undemanding role she played as the one person indifferent to what he said and his family's name, who wagged and smiled even on the hardest days and loneliest nights.

A quiet noise reached me from up the road. Turning to look around the corner towards it, a great beast, at least three times Gyp's size, came into view. He was jogging down the cobblestones, nails clicking and chained cuff tinkling.

The fangirls screamed, sounding just like they did every time the man in green, the victor of Purlo's STAR game, showed up. The trio scattered down the road shrieking, but nobody else haunted this strip at these hours, and besides, all the city residents were unperturbed by the girl's squealing. That left exactly two brave-hearted souls—Gypsy the street mutt, and Jack the alley urchin—to defend whatever valuables Castle Town held from a mangy beast and its imp rider.

As the wolf continued down the road, seemingly oblivious to the screaming girls, a smile cocked my lips. Maybe a scrawny boy like myself should've been scared, but being out all night alone, soaking up the cold, dulls a reckless youth's sense of reality, and more importantly, consequence. Gyp took off after the beast, wagging her tail. If she wasn't afraid…gripping the bone in hand, I whistled.

The beast halted and turned around. Gyp bounded towards me again, forgetting the strange new dog. Wagging the bone in the air for the wolf to see, my rash judgment chucked it down the road.

Gyp chased the toy, barking joyously. The wolf looked towards me and smiled. With twinkling eyes and a mouth rounded up at the corners, the grin was nothing like a human's and exactly the same, simultaneously. The imp riding the beast sighed as its mount bolted after the bone, reaching the prize just before Gypsy did.

The supposed monster brought back the bone, still grinning. I'd never witnessed a dog smile, much less smirk like a friend in on a joke. But a wolf with purple earrings being ridden by an imp? That's an odd sight for its own reasons. The beast was ferocious looking, ice and ash colored marks swirling across his legs and sides and a strange tattoo set between two ethereal blue eyes.

I grinned back as the wolf dropped the bone at my feet. He looked amused. This was clearly no ordinary beast. Tattoo, rider, and earrings aside, it had human eyes. Blue ones.

"The name's Jack," I said, holding out a hand towards the beast. He sniffed it once, then extended his paw in return. We shook.

"This is Gyp," I said, motioning to the beagle who lived on this road, my street mutt other half. The sky bled pink at the fringes now.

"This is Link," said the imp on the wolf's back. When I held my hand out to the ash-colored creature politely, she kept her fluorescently tattooed arms crossed. One eye was covered, the visible the same fiery orange as the ponytail poking from behind a large stone crown. "Midna," the girl replied simply, "and this is where you cower in fear of the beast I'm riding."

For a moment, my laugh colored the grayscale alley and the wolf rolled its eyes. I smiled once more and up the street, an old lady carrying water squealed. "Beast! Beast!" she cried, and Link cast an anxious look over his shoulder and after nodding at me, headed down the road again. With a wave we parted ways. Gyp chased him to the corner, where the beagle mix stopped and came back.

A smile crept across my face as dawn seeped over dark stones. Maybe there were only a few hours left until light, but, rubbing Gyp between the ears, I knew that time would be mine alone. Thanks to the wolf, those fangirls had disappeared, and a street boy could stop wondering if they'd started whispering about the kid in the corner with the ragged clothes.

"Th-the monster!" exclaimed the lady as she came up to me, "Are you all right?"

Beaming trickily, I gave her an answer; "Monsters don't shake your hand."

The lady screamed and dropped her water. And this street alley dweller couldn't help grinning as he spun the old fetching bone between fingers and finally chucked it down the road. Bravery wasn't something a boy like me knew well, but in taking a leap of faith and offering my open palm, I met another lefty, and shook hands with Courage himself.

So, what did you think? Did the oneshot sound forced? Please review and let me know!

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