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! 🙂
The Power of a Name
by April Lee Hammond, Team A
One mistake had cost him everything—his position, his home, his friends, even his name. Two years had passed since the banishing ceremony that erased him from the mind of the villagers. Still, he didn’t stray far. The Healer Tomas, the man he once was, had dedicated himself to these people.
Most avoided his cabin in the woods, so it was a surprise the day Thorne stumbled into his yard, pale and feverish. The banishment forbade him from talking to the man, but he grabbed the potions he had never stopped making and followed him.
He hated going to town and seeing those he once counted as friends now treating him as a stranger. Today, though, all was quiet. Though a beautiful afternoon, shops remained closed, and the streets were empty. From inside one home, he heard a terrible, wracking cough.
Thorne made it home, but collapsed at the door. None greeted him. The healer helped him inside. Thorne’s wife lay on the couch, her breathing labored. Two children huddled in the corner, coughing. The youngest, Aren, met his eyes, the first to do so in years.
Forget the rules. He led Thorne to the bed, then pulled out his potions. The others paid no attention as he gave them the medicines, but there was trust in Aren’s eyes. The man wanted to hug him for that. When he had done all he could, he slipped out of the house.
For days, he moved about the village like a ghost, doing what he could. It was evident that Lira, the new healer, also worked. She did her best, but she was young and had no mentor. He longed to help, but knew she wouldn’t listen, not after her sister’s death.
He wished he could go back. He hadn’t taken the young woman’s illness seriously. She was prone to attention-grabbing, so he thought nothing of it when she complained of a stomachache. Things went bad quickly. He didn’t fight Lira when she insisted on the banishment.
Except now he was sneaking around the village, playing the part of healer when he had no right. What if something went wrong? He pushed these thoughts away. The people needed help, and Lira couldn’t do it alone.
One afternoon, he slipped out a door to find Lira demanding why he was there. As the one who had performed the ceremony, she was the only one who remembered him.
“You have no right to be giving potions,” she shouted. “Leave!”
He lowered his satchel to the ground, leaving it for her, then walked away.
Back at his cabin, he made more potions. He didn’t know if he would ever use them, but he couldn’t stop. He fell asleep at his worktable.
The next morning, an insistent knock pulled him out of troubled dreams. He peeked out the door and found Aren looking up at him.
“Help,” the boy said.
He didn’t stop for questions. He grabbed a satchel and potions, stuck his feet into shoes, and ran with him.
At the healer’s cabin, his step slowed. Aren looked back with pleading. He couldn’t disappoint this boy the way he had disappointed Lira.
Lira, sitting at her cluttered worktable, would have argued, but coughing prevented her.
“He can help,” Aren told her.
The former healer quickly mixed a potion for her. She hesitated, but took it.
“I followed the book,” she told him. “Nothing gets rid of the fever except your potions. What am I missing?”
He shrugged. There were too many things the books didn’t teach.
“Show me.”
First, they made a new batch of his medicine. Then, they started on the problem of the cough. Aren climbed onto a stool and watched until he got hungry. Then, he found food and brought some to them. Lira put him to work, showing him things that his little hands could do. The man watched, remembering a time when he had done the same with her.
By day’s end, they were all tired and frustrated. Lira dropped her head into her hands. She pulled a steaming bowl closer and breathed it in. Within moments, she relaxed and her coughing eased.
“You have to breathe it in,” she said. “But how do we get that to everybody?”
In some ground herbs that had spilled on the table, the man drew a picture.
“The greenhouse!” Aren guessed.
It had the steam. They just needed the herbs and the people. Lira went into a flurry of motion.
By morning, the greenhouse was filled with people and aromatic steam. Lira took a deep breath, the first in a long time. Slowly, the sound of coughing dwindled.
“I knew you could help,” Aren told the man.
“Aren!” Thorne scolded. “What have I told you about talking to strangers?”
“He’s not a stranger.” Aren took the man’s hand. “This is Moss. He brought you home and gave you medicine.”
At the words, a great weight lifted from him. Moss was a name the children had often called him.
“Moss?” Thorne said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” He stuck out a hand. “Thank you.”
Moss, for that was who he was now, shook his hand as if meeting him for the first time. After being introduced to others, Lira came to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “When my sister died, I needed someone to blame. You were supposed to heal her, so I blamed you. I realize now—Well, sometimes, there’s nothing you can do.” She turned to face him. “I never should have banished you. I’m willing to give you back your position. You will again be Healer T—”
He put a finger on her lips to stop her from speaking.
“I am Moss,” he said. He couldn’t believe how good it felt to stay that. “I’ll help how I can, but you are their healer now.”
“But—”
“You’re a fine healer, Lira. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
I enjoyed this story. You left me wanting to learn more about the characters and the background, the banishing ceremony, etc.
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.