Welcome to the first week of the Spring Writing Challenge!
We’re so excited to get started on these stories. It’s time to roll up your sleeves, set your fingers on your keyboard, and get writing. Will your story contain aliens? A prince in disguise? Maybe even a sweet summer romance? Whatever happens, we can’t wait to see what you come up with!
So, without further ado, here’s your very first prompt!
Week One Prompt – The Dialogue Prompt
“If you know something bad is going to happen, do you have to try and stop it?”
“I just got here.”
Wait…what’s a dialogue prompt?
A dialogue prompt is a conversation between two characters. It doesn’t matter who says it, or if it takes place in the beginning, middle, or end of your story. However, one character must say the first sentence, and the second character must respond with the second sentence.
Before you start writing, there are some important rules to follow.
Writing Rules
1. Please keep the content of the stories you post to a PG rating. Please avoid real curse words. Violence/fighting should be limited and purposeful. Please do not include any spice. Moderators may remove stories and comments for any reason at any time. Moderators may remove any member from the challenge at any time.
2. Your story must be 1,000 words or less, and must contain the prompt to be counted for the challenge. You’re not required to post it in order to “win” the challenge, but if you want it to count for your team, your story must be posted by Sunday at 11:59 PM ET, and you must include your team name.
It’s time to post your story as a comment down below! We can’t wait to see all the fun directions you guys take this dialogue prompt. If you have any questions, feel free to email us at info@writers.company!
Happy Writing!
Ava,
Your story was very well written! I enjoyed reading it! 👏
Melissa
Ooh, what a fun story, girl! Fantastic job!
Wow, this is beautifully written!
I love your writing style!
Wow, I’m very impressed. The worldbuilding here feels grounded and real, the characters fleshed out, and the prompt just flows so smoothly with the rest of the narrative. Great story here!
I hope this part of something larger. I was totally sucked in.
Thanks for sharing your work. 🙂 Enjoyable read.
great opening line!
Beautiful story! Great job!
Absolutely loved it
i NEED the rest of this asap! i would love this as a book series. its excellent! The world-building is so good. you did a great job. i especially love how the characters are already full of the knowledge of the world and there is no need for any one character to outright explain things. again, have i expressed how i literally want this in my life so much!
Great details! I was brought right into the world you built!
Such a fun story! Loved the comical banter between characters
Team A
The Bus
Written by: Vivienne Maxwell
Of all the days for Hank Jepson’s bus to break down, today was the worst. It was almost noon, and nearly ninety degrees according to the thermometer at the gas station. He paid for his soda and went outside to find a spot in the shade to wait. He watched his stranded passengers mill about, complaining about the heat and speculating how long it would take to get back on the road.
Hank was hoping the tire could be patched well enough to get them into the city. He didn’t have the money to buy a new one right now. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped off the sweat on his forehead.
A gray-haired gentleman walked over to where Hank was standing. “Are we going to be leaving soon, Hank? I have to get to work, and I’m already running late for my shift at the precinct.”
“I’ll go ask the mechanic for you, George,” Hank replied.
Hank walked behind the gas station to the mechanic’s garage to check on the progress. A man with greasy coveralls and a baseball cap met him at the door and handed Hank the keys to the bus.
“It’s all ready to go,” the man said.
Hank took the keys and nodded. “How much do I owe you?”
“I’m not sure. Why don’t you pull around to the front, and I’ll meet you up there with an invoice.”
Hank did as the man instructed, and prayed that the patch wasn’t going to cost more than the fifty dollars he had left in his wallet. He put the bus in park, got out, and motioned for the stranded passengers to board. Hank looked around for George and saw him walking toward the road.
“George!” Hank shouted. “The bus is fixed, c’mon and get in.”
The elderly man returned and shook Hank’s hand. “Thank you, sir. Is this bus headed to the city? I’m the police chief, and I’m late for my shift at the precinct.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get you there in time, don’t you worry.”
George smiled as they boarded the bus followed by the last passenger, a young man wearing dark clothes and a jacket with the hood over his head.
“Hey there!” The mechanic shouted, jogging over to the bus. “How about you give me a ride and we call things even?”
Hank felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Sounds good to me. Take a seat.”
“I have to lock up the garage, but I’ll be right back.”
While he was waiting for the mechanic to return, Hank looked out his driver’s side window and saw a piece of paper hanging from the side mirror. He grabbed it, and saw a note written from letters cut from magazines. It read:
Mr. Jepson,
There is a bomb located somewhere on your bus. Drive downtown to First National Bank on Main Street, and leave the bus parked out front. If I catch you trying to get help or go anywhere other than to the bank, I will set off this bomb. Don’t be stupid. Do what I ask, and no one gets hurt.
Sincerely,
A passenger on your bus
The mechanic arrived carrying a toolbox, and Hank stuffed the letter in his pocket.
“If you know something bad is going to happen, do you have to try and stop it?” Hank asked the mechanic, voice shaking.
“I just got here.” The mechanic looked puzzled at Hank. “What are you talking about?”
“Find your seat,” Hank said and pulled the lever to shut the door.
Hank drove out of the station and headed toward town, his head spinning. Was this some sort of sick joke? He would pass a police station on the way to the bank, but what if it wasn’t a prank and there really was a bomb? Hank looked into the overhead mirror to look at his passengers. Everyone was either talking to the person sitting next to them or looking out the window. Everyone except for the young man in black, who was glaring back at him. It had to be him, Hank thought, and looked back at the road.
“Don’t I know you?” George asked the mechanic.
“I don’t think so,” the mechanic replied.
“Yes, I do. I just can’t place it. You aren’t the Clancy’s boy, are you?”
“Small world. Yes sir, I’m Peter Clancy,” replied the mechanic.
That’s strange, Hank thought to himself. He didn’t think Bob and Mary had a son. Hank looked into the mirror again and saw the name “John” on the coveralls.
“How are Bill and Judy, doing these days?” Hank asked the mechanic.
“They’re both great,” the mechanic replied.
Hank nodded and pushed on the brake to come to a stop at a stop sign. He pulled the letter out of his pocket and noticed a small black smudge at the top of the page. He smelled it. Grease. Hank felt something jab into his ribs, and the mechanic leaned in close to his ear.
“Don’t be stupid, Hank. You’re going to get all these nice people killed.”
Sensing that they had lingered at the stop sign for a little too long, some of the passengers leaned out into the aisleway to see what was going on.
“He has a gun!” yelled a woman seated behind the mechanic.
The mechanic pulled an arming device out of his pocket. “If this bus doesn’t get moving, I’m going to blow us all up!” he yelled. He turned his attention back to Hank. “Drive!”
“I don’t think so,” said the young man dressed in black.
Before the mechanic could react, the young man knocked him to the ground and pulled his arms behind his back and tied them together with his jacket. Hank got on the radio to call for help.
George looked down at the would-be bomber and shook his head. “That Clancy boy was always trouble.”
To Change the World, by Ava Murbarger
P.S.- sorry I missed the meeting, we were out of town. I hope to be at the next one!!
The sky was bleeding again.
Rust-colored clouds hung over the City like bruises, pulsing faintly. Rael kept her eyes fixed on them, one hand on the rail of the Watchers’ Tower. Her gloves were too thin. The steel was cold enough to bite.
Behind her, a door creaked open.
“You’re late,” she said without turning.
Boots scraped against the stone. A new recruit, probably. They sent one every week now. Fresh eyes, fresh loyalty.
“I got lost,” the boy said. He sounded too young to carry the badge. Too soft to hold a blade. “Sorry.”
She turned and looked at him.
Dust-colored coat, too long in the sleeves. Wide eyes. Not from the City, then. One of the Outer Rings. Maybe even farther. She sighed.
“If you know something bad is going to happen,” she said, “do you have to try and stop it?”
The boy blinked. “I just got here.”
“Well, obviously.” She crossed her arms.
He shifted nervously on his feet.
Rael turned back to the cityscape. “The answer is yes, by the way. At least, if you’re cursed with a conscience.”
He joined her at the rail. Together they watched the distant flicker of drones weaving patterns in the smog. A red warning rune glowed briefly on the horizon, then faded. Rael knew what it meant. The Reclamation Agents were moving again. Soon, another neighborhood would vanish.
“Why do you do this?” the boy asked.
She laughed without humor. “Because no one else will. Because the High Council stopped caring two winters ago. Because someone has to.”
A long pause. Then, “Is it true the Watchers can see the future?”
“We read the signs,” she said. “Patterns in weather. Seismic anomalies. Political shifts. The Council says it’s superstition.” She paused. “But when the streets burn exactly seven hours after the rats vanish, over and over again, you stop calling it chance.”
He was silent. Good. Maybe he was listening.
“You said you got lost. But you still came up here. Why?”
“I heard the bells.” He hesitated. “They said you can’t hear them unless you’re meant to.”
Rael glanced at him. The brass bell on the tower hadn’t rung in years. She narrowed her eyes.
“Name?”
“Wren.”
“That’s not your real name.”
“It is now.”
She smirked. “Fine, Wren. Welcome to Watcher’s Hill. Welcome to the losing side.”
Another alarm rune lit the smog. Closer this time.
Rael pulled her scope from her belt and scanned the eastern edge of the city. “Sector Four. They’re burning the food lines again.”
“That’s the second time this week,” Wren said quietly.
She lowered the scope. “Third.”
He didn’t speak for a long time. Then he said, “My sister was there.”
Rael’s fingers tightened around the rail. She didn’t ask if the girl had survived. That wasn’t the kind of world they lived in anymore.
Instead, she reached into her coat and handed Wren a folded map, inked with lines and red X’s.
“There’s a storm tunnel under the old trainyard,” she said. “It’s not on any schematics, and it’ll get you to Sector Four faster than any street. But it’s dark. And crawling.”
Wren took the map with trembling fingers. “Why are you helping me?”
Rael looked at him, really looked. The wide eyes weren’t wide with fear, not completely. It was fire. Just hidden under the ash.
“Because sometimes the only thing worse than seeing the future,” she said softly, “is doing nothing to change it.”
Wren nodded. His jaw set. “Then I’ll go.”
Rael watched as he turned, vanishing back into the tower’s dark. When the door slammed shut behind him, the bell gave a soft chime. Just once.
And far below, the wind began to shift.