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! 🙂
A New Person
By Abigail Harrison
Team 1 (Reepicheep)
878 Words
I awake, slowly, tearing my way out of unconsciousness. I fight up out of the deep blackness, shoving aside the fuzz that fills my mind. I reach a wall of pain, then burst through it into reality.
I open my eyes. Light sears sears them and I gasp. Pain floods over me and threatens to drown me in blackness. I heave in a breath, and the dry air slices down my raw throat to fill my lungs and give me a few more seconds of life.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
The pain means I’m still alive.
I am Jane Kaplan. I am a soldier. My purpose is to protect.
I drag in a deep breath, wincing as pain flares along my side. Closes my eyes, I mentally probe the sources of pain. Large laser burn on my right side, not too deep and unlikely to bleed heavily. I remember getting that. Left ankle sprained, but my servos will let me keep walking. I flex my right hand, then moan from the spike of pain that seems to impale my fingers. My pinky and ring finger are immobile, likely dislocated and with torn muscles. Left arm and side with multiple lacerations, likely from shrapnel. It hurts, but no arteries must have been hit, or I would have bled out. I feel blood dripping down the side of my forehead, likely the wound than sent me to oblivion. And I can feel a multitude of bruises and scrapes across my legs, arms, chest, and back, making my whole body ache.
I should be dead.
At least my nose is no longer clogged with snot.
Voices drift over the silence of a dead battlefield. I click my teeth to enhance my audio.
“Look, she’s wearing hospital clothes.” A man’s voice, confused.
A deeper voice replies, “How did a patient get this far into the battlefield?”
Footsteps approach.
I try to act dead. It’s rather easy. Staying conscious is the hard part.
One set of footsteps speeds up, and the first voice exclaims, “She’s breathing! I saw her chest move!”
Drathu. I open my eyes and roll to face the men. I move my left hand up into firing position, then stop. The men are wearing medic uniforms. Allied medic uniforms.
I let my arm drop and sag back down. The brief exertion made me dizzy, so I close my eyes.
One of the medics shouts, “Stay awake!”
I try, but the waves of black, exhausting pain crash over me.
The pain flares, then black numbness engulfs me.
I wake again to white light, cold metal underneath me, and several voices murmuring around me.
A blue-masked face appears in my view, murmurs, “It’s time to sleep,” then disappears.
I close my eyes again, and consciousness flees.
The next time I float to the surface of wakefulness, I don’t even open my eyes. I hear someone say, “She’ll live,” then drift back down into sleep.
The fourth time I wake, it is sudden. My eyes snap open, and I gasp in a breath. I feel like I’ve been hauled out of a pool of cold water.
I’m laying in a hospital bed, seemingly alone in a small, bright, white room. I take a few deep breaths, trying to settle my racing heart.
Surprisingly, I feel no pain. My left arm and side are sore, and the burned side has a dull ache.
I look at my right hand and gasp. Two fingers are gone.
I push through the mental fog, trying to remember. Something had crushed those fingers… a tank. I dislocated them trying to break free. The damage must have been too bad for the doctors to repair.
A door swings open and I look over.
A blue-scrubbed nurse walks in, smiling sadly. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
I look back at my hand, then look over the rest of myself. “Just aches.”
“That’s good.” She sighs, then pulls a chair over and sits down. “Jane…”
I look up.
She meets my eyes, then looks down. “You’ve been honorably discharged on account of your injuries. I believe the general intends to award a medal for your bravery in battle.”
My heartbeat speeds up again. I lick my lips, then force my voice out through a hoarse throat. “What’s the bad news?”
The nurse grimaces. “Only half of the hospital patients escaped,” she murmurs.
I look away, guilt clutching my chest. I could have done better, saved more of them. I failed to protect them.
The nurse grabs my left hand, the whole one. “It is thanks to you that so many survived. You could have left with the first wave of evacuees, but you didn’t. You fought to save them. You are a hero.”
I force myself to nod.
“This is your chance for a fresh start,” she continues. “You can start a new life, away from the war. You can become someone new.”
I twist my lips into a thin smile. “Thanks. I… think I want to sleep more.”
The nurse smiles gently. “All right. Sleep well.”
She leaves.
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight against the burning sensation.
A tear slips out.
She was right. I am a new person.
I am a failure.
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.