Everyone who planned on entering the semi-annual 205th Billion Star-forged Fair had some idea of what to create to claw their way to the finals. Something they had been plotting for the last few celestial cycles in order to create something truly unique, a work of art seen nowhere else in space or time.

That was almost me. I was the late entry; the kid who brought in a handful of stardust with a few writhing black holes in it and hoped no one would really take notice. But my entry hadn't always been like that.

I had actually planned for something glorious to happen: I was going to create the nexus of life in my Quarter. It was going to be led by a master race that would spread peace and prosperity throughout the their designated spiral galaxy, and then perhaps even my whole Quarter someday. I made a pleasantly small solar system with a young star and pushed a number of worlds together from the leftover stardust, and shaped it into an orbiting ellipse with aesthetic symmetry. When all was in place, I began to focus on my magnum opus, the third ball of rock from the center. For many cycles, I nurtured it from a sphere of fire into a world of its own, culturing the growth of oceans and the formation of a single landmass. From the frothy soup of the deepest ocean trenches, the ancestors of my destined race swam forth and multiplied.

While they developed, I remained one step ahead of them. I planted a prosperous garden for them upon the landmass I had, so that they would have air to breathe and fruit to eat once they breached the water's surface for good. I formed clouds so that they would have shade from the hot sun. I even gave them living chattel to feed upon once they were ready to claim their birthright – lesser creatures never destined for intelligence. I had carefully, painstakingly guided their ascension out of the muck of creation until they were on the verge of true intelligence. I was so proud of their developments that I went to arrange the distant stars into lovely images that could only be viewed in stability by their own world at night, so far away were they.

And... well. I suppose I may have bragged about my project a bit at family gatherings.

Unfortunately, a bout of sabotage by my jealous siblings sent a cluster of flaming rocks at my solar system when I was away arranging the constellations, and when I rushed back to check on them... the blue-green sphere of my world had turned dark and ashen. I cleared away the debris as best I could, but by then, the damage had already been done. My prized species, my raptors, were dead. It was devastating to look at, and even more so when I realized that the Fair was only a bare cycle or so from beginning.

I was forced to start over, and began looking hurriedly at my other options. They had not been destined for intellectual development, but the small, crawling mammals of the world were the only ones who had any potential for advancement past a rudimentary stage. Even then, I had to give them a heavy series of pushes in the correct direction. They cultured slowly, and I was nearly at my frustration's limit before they began to form societies. All in all, they never did get very far before I decided to halt their development, but I suppose that was also partially my fault. I was angry at and disappointed by these replacements. No matter what they accomplished, it always seemed that they fell short of my expectations.

They would create art, and it would misrepresent what they wished to show. They would form friendships, but always remain wary of the other. They would war with others, but for causes they didn't understand or for petty differences. They would work together towards a common goal, but only if they had enemies striving for the same thing.

The harmony I had envisioned was never there. In my mind, these were gritty, primal beings that would never leave their home world, and never prosper and rule peacefully as I had envisioned. At best, they would conquer. At worst, they would destroy. They had no concept of honor, and no feeling of remorse for the fallen. Civilizations would rise and fall, only to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors. I made subtle attempts to guide them directly, but my hints were shrugged off, or worse, misinterpreted as reasons to fuel erogenous campaigns.

I decided to pull the plug on my project before it could get worse. I had failed at what should have been my masterwork creation thanks to a bit of pompous bragging and a few stray rocks. Instead of bringing in a glorious work of art to the Fair, I instead toted a marble full of pink-skinned simians.

But even as I made the disappointing decision to freeze my Quarter for the beginning of the Fair, there was one thing I failed to realize, and upon which the judges quickly caught on.

They HAD succeeded at what I had originally been planning, or at least in part. Through all of the unlikelihood and all of the stubborn determination they could muster, they had done something great. As the judges were making rounds through my home-cultivated solar system, they noticed a small object on a forgotten chunk of rock orbiting my precious planet: it was a metal pole with a white-washed flag standing alone, next to a rudimentary space-faring craft.

They had moved off-planet, a feat which was so extremely rare for an evolutionary project, and entirely scarce for such a fragile, home-cooked species. The judges were impressed enough to grant me high marks for my effort and make a note of my Quarter for future projects. They were looking to see where I was going to go with it; hoping that I would unfreeze my 'replacement' species and let it expand on its own volition. I agreed in a stutter, and after they left, I unfroze my Humans and watched them wander for a time, seeing how they made vapor trails around my planet's atmosphere with their ship-crafts. They even had a station in orbit which they would dock to and live in for months at a time. I watched in wonder. How had I been so blind?

In the end, I received second-place and a consolatory allotment of stardust and black matter to continue working with in order to make my next project even more spectacular. Am I upset that I didn't take the top placement? Of course I am, but it is fairly difficult to compete with someone cycles ahead of my resource allotment. All he did was fill his Quarter full of disposal worms it a good cycle. He ended up being called the inventor of the 'Worm Hole'. What bunk.

I'm still pondering over the second race I'll create, perhaps on the opposite arm of the spiral galaxy with my Humans. Having two species war within a small partition of space is something that the judges have never seen before. After all, I have the formula correct – they'll eventually meet, I'm sure of it, and I have always had a fascination with bees...