Your challenge is to write a short story, and to communicate a narrative by giving a tour of its setting. That is, the bulk of the story is describing a place. You will use the setting as the vehicle for the story. If this sounds ridiculous, remember that a story in its most basic form is a problem that gets solved. The problem can be answering a question like 'what happened', and your reader can be the one asking it. Bonus challenge: No characters or people. Here's an example, because the concept's hard to describe. Matt's flat looks like a tornado went through it; more so than usual. His place is pretty sloppy on a good day, but if he were conscious, even Matt would agree that right now, it evokes rather the impression of a bomb site. His jumper is halfway across the kitchen table - it knocked a few crushed Monster cans over on its landing - where he threw it, as opposed to in a pile by the door or dropped over the back of one of the two rickety kitchen chairs that came with the place. His boots have made a dent in the far wall instead of amassing a quiet puddle of mud and London rainwater by the door. Today there's not just some tracks on the floor, there's puddles and smears of mud in a clear trail from the entrance to the squeaky ill-fitting bedroom door. There's always been missing patches in the wallpaper, but the bits of spackling that have fallen down along the baseboard are new. Today the usual semi-clear path across his bedroom - or rather, room-with-a-secondhand-single-mattress-on-the-floor-room - through the minefield of clean and dirty laundry, boxes and cans and assorted other bullshit is missing. The space is blocked by extra shit; a bright red backpack and a pair of tall black strappy boots which flop over weirdly when unzipped. His desk has always been a disaster zone; today the difference is that half of it has been cleared. A leather jacket with furry bullshit around the collar that Matt wouldn't be caught dead in is hanging off the edge; it probably swiped the drifts of post its, pens, CDs, bobbleheads and other crap to the floor, probably lost almost-forever in the abyss. Matt will be annoyed about that later. The place may be a perpetual mess, but it's his mess, he knows where everything is, and he treats his system being fucked up the same way a neat freak treats cups without coasters. Most people don't believe there is a system, and to be fair, it doesn't really look like there is one. He's never been good at planning, so the way things end up laying out doesn't really make sense. That's okay though; he likes life better that way. He doesn't mind having his jumper on the table instead of the floor, he doesn't mind having a slip 'n slide across the living room instead of a few drips, he doesn't mind half his desk on the floor, he doesn't mind the additional jacket and shirt and pants discarded atop his own pile of clothes next to the mattress, because throwing his routine off and turning his flat into an absolute crater is the cost of delightfully unanticipated things like the blonde bombshell who followed him home and is steadily putting his arm to sleep under mismatched sheets, and there's nothing quite like a smoke in the aftermath.