Welcome to the final week of the Spring Writing Challenge!
It’s the final week! This has been such a fun challenge. You’ve all done so well with your stories. There are so many interesting and unique ways you have taken the prompt. It’s now time for the final week, so let’s do this one last time! We can’t wait to see what you come up with.
So, without further ado, here’s your final prompt!
Week Six Prompt – The Character Prompt
Write a story about a character that experiences a rebirth
Wait…what’s a character prompt?
A character prompt is a prompt that’s about a specific character. It doesn’t matter where your story takes place or what’s said. What matters is that your story must be about a character who experiences a rebirth.
Before you start writing, we have some important rules for you 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.
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.
Remember to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and post your story as an “answer” to this question, not a “comment”. 🙂 You’re all doing such a great job! I’m so proud of all the stories you’ve posted.
Happy Writing!
We’re so glad that you participated Juli! 🙂
Ghosts And Toast
I never did like the idea of ghosts.
They scared my sister, endlessly intrigued my brother, and annoyed my parents to their wits end. But all I felt for them was a deep-rooted dislike, one that caused me to lift my chin haughtily and ignore the presence of the two dozen or so that haunted our manor.
You can imagine just how much I regret that, now that my family is gone and said ghosts are all I have for company.
When I first moved back into the manor a few months ago, the ghosts all seemed to have made the unanimous decision to ignore me as I had done to them when I was a spoiled child. I, drowning in my grief and walking around in a daze as I was and still am, was perfectly content with the arrangement. But that was before I started noticing small inconveniences throughout my day– my slippers disappearing far under the bed, my tea becoming lukewarm before I could even begin to drink it, and a thick layer of dust appearing on every surface no matter how many times I cleaned them. I’m sure the ghosts would have messed with my food, if I bothered to eat.
I ignored all of that, too, but the ghosts are becoming bolder day by day. Just this morning, the giant chandelier in the front hall fell as I was walking under it. If I had been just one step closer, I would’ve been flattened like a pancake; as it was, it scraped the skin off of the edge of my nose.
So, I decided to stage an intervention.
The sun is setting through the murky mist outside as I make my way up the rickety stairs to the attic– the ghosts’ favorite haunt. I wrap my threadbare, formerly elegant robes around myself as the temperature begins to drop. It’s always colder where the ghosts are.
“Hello?” I say, my voice scratchy with disuse, as I ascend through the trapdoor and into the attic. Cobwebs stretch in every corner, but what grabs my attention is the sketching pad on the floor, the broken pens littered around it. My brother loved it up here almost as much as the ghosts do. I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Hello,” I repeat, holding up the matchbox I brought with me as a sort of peace offering. The ghosts love the heat of fire. I bring out a match and strike it, a tiny flame flickering on the end. I feel the ghosts come closer all around me, though they don’t let themselves be seen yet. The chilly wind from their presence lifts my tangled black hair, probably reddening my paperwhite skin; a result of not venturing outdoors for months. I clear my throat.
“I know we were never quite friends,” I say hesitantly, “and I know you all must be very angry with me for leaving you alone for so long. I admit, I stalled coming back for as long as I was able to, for I knew how painful it would be to walk these halls alone. But I’m not quite alone, I suppose. You all are here, aren’t you? We’re all each other has got for company. So I hope we can be… well, I don’t expect us to be great friends, but I hope we can be at peace with each other. What do you say?” I hold the match out, the flames slowly traveling up the stick to my fingers.
For a moment, the air is silent. Then a translucent shape takes form in front of me. A woman, with a stooped frame and wrinkled skin. Round spectacles sit on her nose as she looks me over.
My great grandmother.
Or maybe great-great grandmother– I can never keep them all straight.
“What happened to them?” Her words chill the air like frost.
I swallow again, my eyes suddenly burning. “They died. Shadowbeasts, while we were traveling.” I find I cannot elaborate.
She’s quiet again watching me. Then her hand reaches out and closes around the flame, causing it to sputter out. “For goodness sake, girl, that thing was almost burnt out. You could have hurt yourself.”
I don’t care. I want it to burn. Maybe the pain would distract from the aching in my chest. I wrap my arms around myself. “Thank you.”
She reaches out again, but this time her hands grip my bony shoulders. I feel the cold like icicles through my clothes. “Don’t leave us like that again.”
“I won’t,” I promise. I hold out the remainder of the matches.
She takes them. It’s a gesture of forgiveness, peace, maybe even an apology, all rolled into one. I incline my head and turn to leave.
“Wait,” she says. I look over my shoulder. Her eyes are on the sketchbook in the corner. “The little boy, he was good company up here. We miss that.”
I read between the lines. She wants me to come up here, to keep them company, maybe even sketch them like my brother had. I’m terrible at art, but they don’t have to know that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She nods, then fades away until it’s just me standing here in the darkness. But I still feel their presence around me, and it’s warmer than it was before. Friendlier.
I start back down the stairs, but I feel different than when I was coming up. Lighter, somehow, like the five-minute conversation helped ease some of the weight on my chest. I find a smile tugging at my lips as I head towards the kitchens.
Maybe I’ll have some toast.
Team A | Lydia Fiore
Wow!! Even in such a short story you really captured a lot of deep emotions! I love the descriptiveness <3
Wonderful story! Packed with emotion and a new beginning. I think it could be expanded into a longer story – I would like to know more!
When the new prompt arrive, my first thought is, Oh no! What am I going to write to make that work? But the Holy Spirit ALWAYS shows up and I get an idea every time. It amazes me. Thanks for a thought provoking six weeks.