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! 🙂
Title: Gradual
Team A: Herbert
I was looking far and wide, trying to come up with characters and arcs and words — I forgot that the story closest to home was the one most worthy of being shared.
This is for the lonely and the misfits. This is for those who have lost hope and let go. This is the story of my own rebirth.
I was walking up the stairs one morning and saw a bunch of classmates chatting and waiting in line for our 7th grade homeroom teacher. I stood quietly in my usual spot at the end of the hallway, swaying my lunchbox, amused only by my thoughts.
Most of my classmates I had known since I was seven. But when they started forming cliques at eleven, I was too quiet, too slow to join in. I observed from the outside. I wasn’t desperate enough to change myself, nor smart enough to realize that school was more about personal connections than just academics.
Still, I prided myself on being seen as smart — an intellectual. But what’s the point if you can’t share it with anyone?
Don’t get me wrong, I had friends — just not in that classroom. I had people from church, including a best friend who I once overlooked, thinking she wasn’t “cool” enough. I had tried to blend in with my childhood playmates, those who were into makeup, boys, and exclusivity. But it always felt like betrayal. Thankfully, my best friend stayed patient. She showed me what it meant to be myself, even if we didn’t fit in. Together, we were the outcasts, but we were never truly lonely because we had each other.
In school, though, I was on my own. My classmates talked to me, yes, but never long enough to really know me — the me that was longing to break out of my shell.
“Eunice!”
I turned. It was Sven and Sofia — classmates I had known since grade school. Friendly, cheerful, but with their own groups.
“That was a great speech you gave earlier!” Sven said, full of energy despite his small frame. “Yeah!” Sofia added, her smiling eyes bright. “We love it when you speak for P&P!”
You’re probably wondering: if I’m so quiet, how did I end up giving speeches?
Our American homeroom teacher had started a new class called Projects and Presentations (P&P). We were the guinea pigs. Everyone was scared — we’d all have to speak in front of the class. But something about it awakened something in me. I was nervous, sure, but I felt alive. Finally, I had a place to say everything I had been keeping inside.
Another question: if some classmates were nice, wasn’t I less lonely?
The thing is, loneliness doesn’t disappear just because people talk to you. It lingers when you still feel like no one truly sees or accepts you. I longed to be somewhere I could be myself — fully — and be loved because of it. I didn’t know such a place could exist. But I let the story unfold.
I smiled at Sven and Sofia, waving my hands modestly. “I was nervous the whole time!” I admitted, though inside, I was thrilled. The front of the class had become a stage where I could just be.
“You belong up there, Eunice,” Sven said as we walked toward the classroom. “You almost transform when you’re up there,” Sofia added.
Huh. I didn’t realize others saw that in me. I just knew it felt right.
“You’re like a Transformer!” Sven laughed. I giggled.
Then the door opened. Mr. Marcus, our towering, grizzly bear-like homeroom teacher, stood there. He had wild stories from his time in the US Bomb Squad, but more than that, he openly shared his love for Jesus. I admired that.
We entered the cold classroom. I placed my lunchbox under my desk. Some students wiped off sweat from playing basketball. Mr. Marcus let us settle down.
“I have something to share with you all,” he said in his deep voice. “It’s a video about the Bible — from Genesis to Revelation. I researched it all. It’s solid truth. I want to show it to you before the school year ends. Is that alright?”
I nodded without realizing it, folding my hands on the desk.
Some students were only half-listening, but I was fully tuned in. Mr. Marcus pulled down the projector screen. The video title appeared: Light of the World.
I’ve known Jesus since I was a child. I thought it was amazing that Someone would die for me. But the reality of that never truly hit me — not until that video.
To be honest, it wasn’t just one video that changed everything. It was the fact that God kept meeting me — in my loneliness, in my aching desire for acceptance. Every moment I reached for Him, He showed up. The video was just one more seed planted in the soil of my searching heart.
My story may not seem climactic. There’s no major plot twist. But I believe some transformations are quiet. Gradual. Like my discovery of loving public speaking. Like my deepening love for writing. Like how, over time, I fell in love with Jesus — not just as an idea, but as a Savior who met me where I was and never left.
This is the story I forgot to tell — the one that mattered the most.
SO sweet Eunice! Is this your personal testimony? Cause I really resonate with it. I was homeschooled, but the outcast feelings still existed in my Sunday school youth class, because I wasn’t “one of them”. Your story spoke to that part of my growing up years, thanks!
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.