Welcome to Week Three! Can you believe we’re at the halfway mark for the challenge?
You all did so well with your stories last week! There were so many interesting and unique ways you interpreted the prompt. It’s now the third week, so it’s time to do it again! Will your story have aliens? Zombies? Maybe it’ll have a dragon in it! Whatever you decide, we can’t wait to see what you come up with.
So, without further ado, here’s your next prompt!
Week Three Prompt – The Starting Sentence Prompt
Write a story that starts with the
following sentence: So this is what drowning feels like.
Wait…what’s a “Starting Sentence” prompt?
A sentence prompt is a prompt that uses a particular sentence. It doesn’t matter where your story takes place, who’s in it, or what’s said. The only thing that matters is that your story must start with this sentence: So this is what drowning feels like.
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!
Will you notice if someone is like 1-25 words over the 1000 word limit (asking for a friend hahaha)
what if i accidently posted my story as a comment last week lol? does it still count?
Hey Izzy and Ava,
If you accidentally post your story as a comment instead of an answer, you should get an email to alert you! It will still count for points for your team, but no one will be able to vote for it.
And, to answer your question for your friend 😉 As far as word count, for your story to count for the challenge, it does need to be 1,000 words or under. Great questions!
Team 1 Reepicheep
Smart Science Girl
So this is what drowning feels like. Not physically drowning; thank God I don’t have experience with that. Academically drowning is more my style.
I slam my laptop shut, blocking the B- from view and possibly cracking my screen. The guy at the table across from me in the college library scowls, and I resist the childish urge to stick my tongue out.
Really? A B minus?
Taylor flounces into the library and sags into the chair across from me, tossing her smooth blond hair over her shoulder. “How’d you do on the chem test?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Aw, come on, can’t be that bad. You’re way better at school than me, and even I passed.”
Of course Taylor wouldn’t understand. “Fine. An 82.”
“See? You did great.” She opens a granola bar and munches on it.
“I don’t know if I’m cut out for college.”
“Girl, why do you care so much?”
Yup, someone like Taylor doesn’t understand what it’s like to go from high school valedictorian to a B-. “Forget it.”
She shrugs. “Whatever. But you’ve gotta lighten up. College isn’t about grades, it’s about making friends and living life and—oh my goodness, Ryan!” She shrieks, and I sigh as she jumps up and races towards another friend.
It’s easy for Taylor to say grades don’t matter, when she has enough friends to fill the Mayflower. What do I have if not my grades?
I ease my laptop open, relieved to see the screen is still intact. Maybe I should email the professor, ask about extra credit.
Why didn’t I just…go to community college? At least then I’d have been close to home and a few people who actually knew me.
I delete the email and start again, and as I do, someone walks up. “D-do you mind if I j-j-join you?”
Surprised, I look up to see Jacob, an old high school acquaintance. Weird; I can’t ever remember having a conversation with him, other than a “hi” in the hallway. “Hey, sure, go ahead.”
He sits down, sipping his coffee. “Y-you okay? You l-l-looked stressed.”
Something about his presence is comforting. I’m not sure why; he’s practically a stranger. But his face looks genuinely concerned.
I guess that’s why I’m honest with him. “I didn’t do as well as I was hoping on my chemistry test, and I’m worried about my grades.”
He grins. “Still s-s-stressing about grades while the r-r-rest of us have fun.” Then he leans forward. “Was Taylor giving you a hard time?”
“Not really.”
He leans back again with a nod, and we lapse into silence.
Why did he come over here, anyway? I want to ask, but the words feel too awkward so they stick in my throat, making it impossible to speak.
So I rewrite my email, and Jacob sips his coffee, until finally the silence is too much and I blurt out the question at the forefront of my mind, “What if I can’t do this college thing?”
Jacob’s eyes widen, and heat floods my face. Why am I dumping my biggest insecurity onto a random guy?
But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “Sorry. It’s just…I came to this school because of the science program, and I thought I could be successful and I just…I don’t know if I can do it. I’m afraid I’ll fail and have to go home and admit I’m not as smart as everyone thought and start bagging groceries or something.”
I expect Jacob to stare, or to get up and walk away. Instead, he smiles. “Avery, n-n-no one c-c-cares about your grades. E-e-even if that did happen, y-y-you’d still be you. Y-y-you’re more than a chemistry test.”
I sigh, because he doesn’t understand either. Who am I if not the smart science girl?
` “H-h-h-hey, do y-y-you know why I came over here?”
I shrug. “Felt sorry for me?”
“Nope.” His gaze flicks away. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you f-f-f-for a while now, actually. D-d-do you remember that t-t-time in ninth grade, when we were giving p-p-presentations?”
I frown. Science presentations. Jacob was presenting and some jerks in the back row were mocking his stutter. And I…
My face warms. I was so annoyed, especially since a couple girls kept giggling every time one of the boys said something. Jacob got more and more flustered, and the teacher was grading papers and hadn’t noticed…
And I’d whirled around in my chair and snapped, “Shut up!”, so loud the whole class started laughing, and the teacher put down her pen and laid into me about interrupting presentations, and those popular jerks had turned it into a whole joke about me and Jacob being secretly in love.
It was one of my worst high school memories, and I can’t count the times I’ve looked back and wished I’d stayed silent.
I look back up, giving Jacob a half-smile. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I n-n-never said th-th-thanks,” he says quietly. “Th-th-they were awful t-t-to you, and I wanted to thank you, but I d-d-didn’t want t-t-to make it w-w-worse.”
I shrug. “It was nothing.”
“No, i-i-it wasn’t nothing. You cared, A-a-a-avery. That’s who you are. N-n-not s-s-s-some grade.”
I want to believe him, but all I remember is a smart science girl who got humiliated. “Thanks, Jacob.”
He watches me, and I think he can tell I don’t believe him. “W-w-why don’t you t-t-take a b-b-break t-t-tonight? We could d-d-do something t-t-together. S-s-see a m-m-m-movie or s-s-something. If y-y-you w-w-want to.” His stutter seems stronger now, his face redder.
And I remember the grateful look he shot me that day in ninth grade, and the way he used to smile at me when I saw him across the cafeteria, and I wonder how I missed this. Could I have been so obsessed with being the smart science girl, that I’d missed something right in front of me?
I gently close my laptop and smile. “You know what? I’d love that.”
Wonderful story! It is so easy to be unable to see beyond the image you have of yourself. Thank you for sharing!
Thanks for reading! <3
“she has enough friends to fill the Mayflower” – I may need to start using this phrase in regular life.
I liked your story. And not just because of the name of the main character.
It was sweet, but not saccharine. And very understandable and relatable. (Sort of – it’s been a few decades since college, but feelings like that still do come up.)
I also thought thie line “you’re more than a chemistry test” was some nice insight.
And the use of the prompt worked well.
I would NOT give this story a B-. 🙂
Team 1
A Delicate Ecosystem
“So this is what drowning feels like,” said the wheezy voice of Laura’s roommate from the other side of the curtain. “Funny, I thought it’d be…wetter.”
Laura glanced at the curtain.
She imagined the person behind the sheet as an older woman. Someone on strong painkillers judging from the things she said. Laura had only just been transferred to this room, and her roommate had not been quiet since.
Whatever she had, Laura hoped it wasn’t contagious.
Laura had the latest flue going around. She was dehydrated but nothing else. If anything, her strange roommate eased her boredom.
“Do you want to know a secret?” the lady asked.
“What?” Laura answered.
“We’re in the killing section.”
“Okay.”
The lady giggled between rasping breaths. “The ship is a delicate ecosystem. They need to – to maintain the population at a certain – number. Enough to – enough to breed when we find a new – home. But too many – and – and we won’t be able to” the coughing fit took over. “feed everyone.” She finally managed. “So they kill us off when we’re too old, or sick, or…” more coughing stopped her rambling and brought the doctor in.
“… The mentally ill,” she continued. “It’s a delicate ecosystem.” She hacked out the last words like they would be her last and they needed to be said.
From behind the curtain, the doctor whispered comforting shushing noises.
The coughing ended as violently as it began. The wheezing too.
The room became uncomfortably silent until the doctor’s chair scrapped the floor, and he stepped into Laura’s small rectangle of the divided room.
“There’s been a mistake,” his long face grim and tired.
“What kind of mistake?”
“Too late to rectify it now.”
Laura propped herself up. Something was wrong and she struggled to find a connection to the doctor’s unnamed mistake, her uncharacteristically quiet roommate, and herself.
The doctor came to her bedside and replaced her saline sack with a new one.
“You weren’t supposed to be placed in this section. The names were similar. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
Laura could not read the doctor’s face as he prepped a needle; a mixture of calm and sorrow. Laura drew back as he swabbed her arm. Except, she didn’t. Her arm refused to move. Her heart pounded and her lungs tightened.
“This will make the passing easier.” The doctor said, injecting her with this new medicine.
“Passing?” the drug worked fast. Euphoria expelled her fear, and soon a heavy sleep threatened to take over.
“Why?” she laughed, but really she wanted to cry.
“We can’t have conspiracy theories causing panic. It is, after all, a delicate ecosystem.”
Laura’s lungs grew tighter, she struggled to breathe. It was like a giant snake was crushing her. It was like… she struggled for air, coughing … it was like drowning.
“Sleep now,” the doctor said. “It will pass faster if you sleep.”
Laura didn’t want to pass. She wanted to live, find a new home, populate a new planet. See grass for the first time, know what dirt was. Everyone said they were so close, it would be in her lifetime. “But-” she started.
“Sleep,” the doctor stood and left.
“Wait,” Laura’s cry was weak and followed by another coughing fit. She was helpless, she couldn’t breath, and she was so tired.
So this was what drowning felt like. Funny, she thought it would be wetter.
Woah, as a Canadian who has seen MAID contaminate our land, this healthcare led killing is all too familiar, and chilling. Thanks for your sober take on it!
Fun story! Sobering. I like how you were able to weave several layers together and how all the details at the beginning paid off at the end. Great job!
This story was definitely chilling since it resembles a lot of things in our secular society. You definitely wrapped it up neatly at the end with the starting statement!
A powerful story! Well done.
Interesting take on the story prompt! I feel bad for the girls.
Team 1
The Waters
Saturday, 1:02 a.m.
So this is what drowning feels like. No thrashing, no screaming. Just silence.
I stare, unblinking, at my phone in the dark.
I stare at the picture, posted for all the world to see. His hand, strong and smooth, entwined in five French-tipped fingers.
Are they yours? my friend texts.
I punch the letters with my plain, unmanicured thumb. No.
Oh, she says. Dang.
I don’t reply. I scroll through the comments instead.
Congrats, bro.
Knew you had it in you.
She’s a keeper! <3
My skin tingles. How? How could there have been someone else? Everyone thought…my friends thought…heck, his mom thought…
I thought he liked me.
I squeeze my phone. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. Like a train hit my gut. Like it ran right through me and left my insides hollow, torn to shreds. Still trembling.
My palms are cold with sweat. I slide to the floor, and my phone slides out of my hands. My room is dark. I can’t see anything. Why can’t I see anything? Why can’t I feel anything?
It’s fine, I think. I know how to swim.
***
Saturday, 11:28 a.m.
I look at the picture again as I sit down for lunch. I had half hoped it was a just a nightmare. It isn’t.
I bite into my sandwich, but my stomach turns a somersault. I squeeze my eyes shut and force the mouthful down. It’s like swallowing a ball of Styrofoam.
A text from my friend pops up. Hey. Wanna talk?
No, I reply.
Please?
I shove the rest of my sandwich into the trash. I’m fine.
***
Sunday, 2:34 a.m.
I can’t sleep. I’m reeling, like a rowboat in a stormy sea. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I notice something? Why did I let my feelings drag me away like the ruthless current of a river?
Why did he leave me alone?
It’s fine, I force myself to think. It’s part of life. Get a helmet, and try to forget.
***
Sunday, 5:04 p.m.
I walk into the coffee shop to meet my friend for Bible study. She’s already there. I fake a smile, and she stands as I drop my Bible on the table. Gives me a hug, long and strong. I tense up.
“You’re as stiff as a board,” she says. “And you look exhausted.”
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep. Lamentations, right?”
“No, Isaiah. Chapter 43.”
“That’s right.” I nod and we both sit. I open up to Matthew, then flip the pages rapidly. Isaiah 43 Isaiah 43 Isaiah 43…
“Hey. Before we get started.”
I glance up. My friend reaches forward and grabs my hands. Her eyes are…sad.
“How are you doing?” she asks. “Like, really doing.”
I start to pull my hands away. “Fine. I’m great. I’m–I’m over it, actually. For real.”
“For real?”
I give her a tight nod and flip the next few pages. There it is. Isaiah 43. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…
My friend’s voice breaks. “Then am I the only one who’s grieving for you?”
I look up. A film of tears is shining in her eyes. She’s hurting. She’s not fine.
And neither am I.
For the first time my eyes well up with tears. My throat aches. My chest heaves. She wraps me up, like a blanket, in her arms.
Next thing I know, I’m sobbing.
It’s like coughing up water. Your head throbs and your chest burns and pain is stabbing through your soul with every jerk of your body–but it’s good.
It’s the first step in coming back to life.
This is absolutely incredible Ava!! You compacted so much emotion into so few words – the mark of a skilled writer. I feel like I could read it again lol, it was so so good
I felt like I was right there with them. Well done!
this is really great! keep writing this way, and keep keep it polished, and you will create beautiful art, with a beautiful God-given talent gift.
Panic Attack, by Sarah Sax (Team Reepicheep)
So, this is what drowning feels like.
It feels like your blood has been replaced with warm, slow-moving honey.
It feels like your bones are melting and mixing with the blood-that-is-honey.
It feels like your hands locking into claws and your lips twitching uncontrollably and your skin going all prickly.
And that’s so weird, because this is nothing like actual drowning. I’m pretty sure none of this happens when you drown. Unless it’s possible to drown on oxygen? My brain reminds me that humans don’t actually breathe pure oxygen, and I remind it to shut up. It’s so everlastingly loud in there, like I’ve got several YouTube videos playing at once.
Breathe, just breathe, sings Jonny Diaz.
Succulent flavah, the uprisen Savyuh, says TobyMac.
I’m so tired but I can’t sleep and so hungry but I can’t eat and I’m so sick of everything and so sick of trying and I’m so tired but I can’t— goes the looping track that is self-diagnosing.
Hey, are you all right? asks a voice that is definitely not in my head.
Good for you looking after your mental health, but it’s really trendy to imagine yourself with a bunch of disorders, says a voice I really wish was not in my head.
You’re just faking to get attention, says that voice’s twin. You love this. Admit it.
“Hey!” the voice not in my head repeats. “Are you OK?”
I feel like I’m in a dream. I look up and see people, I look down and I see floor, I feel my hands locking up and feel my body rocking, but I’m stuck on a tornado dragging me way way down, away from feeling, and I can’t talk, and I’m breathing really hard but can’t actually breathe—
Show me my silver lining! yells First Aid Kit.
“No,” I make myself say. I want to laugh and sound dramatic, because the moment madness begins is always very dramatic in literature, but my voice is close to tears. “It won’t stop.”
“What won’t stop?” the voice says. I know this voice, I know these people, but I’m drifting away, I can’t really connect. . . .
“The anxiety won’t go away,” I whisper, and trail off because I really think I might start crying, and I’m too overwhelmed to feel emotions right now.
The sun will rise with each new day, reminds Hollow Coves.
“I’m sick of trying,” I say. “I don’t feel anything anymore.”
“You have to keep trying,” says the outside voice. “Don’t give up. We all love you. It’s OK. It’ll go away.”
I’m sick of waiting for it to go, though. And it always comes back. I can’t even say that; I’m being pulled too far away. I shut my mouth and shake my head and just wait to be told, All right, you can go home now.
This is what drowning feels like. And it happens over and over.
Wow! That was so in tune with emotions, and the feelings of what—I imagine—a real panic attack is like. It seemed like it would be really difficult to write. Amazing job!
I also loved the way you added in song lyrics (got me some great music recommendations now!)
Thank you! This was me last week (and the reason why I didn’t post a story for week two). And yes, I really recommend these artists (Hollow Coves is amazing at doing hopeful angst so you can listen to it when you’re down without feeling even more depressed).
this is so beautiful, and it really rings straight from the heart. I relate so deeply to the “faking to get attention” or “trendy to have mental disorders”. it’s so chaotic sometimes, so many voices in your head and outside, telling you so many things. excellent work my friend.
Many thanks, mellon!
as a fellow occasional panic attackier, and someone with a loud mind: sorry for your struggles, but you’re not alone. i think its amazing how we can comfort others how God comforts us, don’t know which Bible verse that is, but i know its in There, :), by helping others live in our shoes and getting them to feel things when they cant understand them empathetically themselves. Keep writing your struggles, your heart, and using it as a way to explain yourself to yourself. God can use that to help you figure things out. Pray always, never ceasing, and bring to Jesus your honesty and heavy burdens. Hes got it all. being weak with him, its difficult sometimes but He has you more than any person ever could and ever will. Writing really is therapy. God is good no matter what. you can do this; keep going. i know it can be difficult. but Gods got you and you got Him! Thank Jesus for that, huh?!! keep writing. i really enjoyed this.
Thank you, that means a lot! I’m at once glad you liked the story, and sad you could relate to it.
So this is what drowning feels like. I stagger to my knees, head pounding. Blood fills my mouth, dripping down my lips. Around me I can still hear the screams. War horses barreling into the spear line to crash to the earth— The weight of them sends men flying. Shields crack like ribs.
I blink hard. Everything’s ringing. Someone shrieks near me. A boy’s voice. Younger than me.
I twist toward it, but my arms feel like stone. I can’t find my sword. Did I drop it?
I crawl forward on hands slick with mud and blood, dragging one leg behind. My boot’s gone. My toes are cold, and wet. There’s a spear haft jutting from the earth beside me like a grave marker. I grab it, try to haul myself up.
An arrow thuds into the ground inches from my knee. Another slices past my shoulder. I flinch, breathing fast, sucking blood and air in through clenched teeth. My ribs burn. Something’s broken in there—maybe everything.
All around, the line is folding. Our banners are falling. The green and gold lies in the dirt, soaked through. Someone is calling a retreat, but no one’s listening.
A man stumbles past me, face torn open. He doesn’t see me. No one does.
I press my back to a fallen horse, trying to find cover, trying to think. My heart’s thudding so loud it could shatter my chest.
This can’t be it. Not like this.
Someone grabs my arm. I jerk around—swinging blindly—but it’s one of ours. A captain I think. His face is streaked with ash and sweat, a gash wide over his brow.
He shoves me to the ground. “Crawl. Back.” He can barely get the words out. “We’re pulling back—what’s left of us.”
I start to move. On elbows, on knees, like an animal. I can hear men dying behind me, hoarse and raw. I don’t look back.
A horn sounds. Not ours.
And the sky—it’s grey, so grey. Like it’s holding its breath.
I trip over a corpse. No, not a corpse. The boy who screamed. His eyes are open, glassy. He’s younger than me. Maybe thirteen. He was holding a dagger. I think he cut someone. Maybe himself. There’s blood on his hands.
He looks like he’s sleeping. He looks like my brother.
I keep crawling.
Branches whip at my face as I stagger to my feet and run.
Behind me, the screams fade, swallowed by trees. The ground rises and dips without mercy. My lungs are ragged. Every breath is a wound. I don’t know how I’m still moving. I just am.
I trip. Fall. Hands slam into earth and leaves. I stay just for a second. Just long enough to listen.
Nothing. No horses. No horns. No boots behind me.
I roll onto my back, staring up through tangled black branches. The sky’s barely visible. Dusk, or maybe later. The trees make everything darker.
I don’t know where I am. Night is coming.
My whole body’s shaking. It’s not the cold.
Later—hours maybe—I find a hollow under a fallen log. Just enough space to crawl in. I wedge myself there, curled tight, arms around my knees. My tunic’s soaked. The blood on my side is sticky now. My fingers are numb.
I can still hear the horses. The clash of iron. The screaming.
But it’s only in my head.
My mouth tastes like copper and ash. My ribs hurt when I breathe, so I take shallow breaths. One of my boots is gone. My cloak too. I don’t remember losing them. I don’t remember much. Just the boy’s eyes. Open. Staring at nothing.
I press my face to my knees.
It was warm, this time last week. The barracks smelled like stew and sweat. I’d complained about the straw mattress. About the drills. I’d traded half my supper for a carved dice. Stupid little thing.
Now I’d trade anything to hear another voice.
I think of my brother. The real one. Not the boy on the battlefield.
He used to sneak bread to me when I got punished. Smuggled honey once, in a wax leaf. I remember how proud he looked. Like he’d brought me gold.
I remember laughing.
When was the last time I laughed?
The wind picks up. It howls through the trees like the dead are trying to speak. I burrow deeper, bones aching.
I want to go home. But I don’t know if there’s a home left. If there’s anyone to go back to. If my brother made it out. If anyone did.
I curl tighter. My teeth are chattering.
The log groans above me. Leaves settle like fingers on my back. I close my eyes. Try not to cry.
No one is coming.
This is what drowning feels like.
Not water.
Not waves.
Silent
Cold.
Alone
Team A.
I loved this. This stream of consciousness type writing is my favorite. Just raw emotion.
Tean A (Herbert)
In the Crushing
So, this is what drowning feels like. And it’s not water in my lungs purged beneath a surface where I can’t find purchase to get out. No, honestly it may be worse. The endless pressure from the world around me coaxing me to pick a path. Pick the right path. Decide right now at only seventeen what career I want for the rest of my life. How on this beautiful chaotic earth am I supposed to know what I want? I barely know myself at this point. And never mind what you want to do or be, how about where you want to go after high school? What college? Do you stay close to home? Do I go across the country? Will my parents have an opinion? If I stay close to home, do I want to dorm to get the full experience? Most people my age doesn’t worry about the next question, but I do. How will I pay for college? Loans? Do my parents have any money? Am I eligible for scholarships? Grants? I sigh slamming the laptop shut pushing it away from me as I slam my back against the chair in the library. I throw my head back and close my eyes willing the weight of the endless questions to go away. They don’t. My mind seems to be on an endless loop of consuming questions, concerns, and quite frankly options. Apparently being top in my class gets harder than it already was. I studied my butt off and worked extra hard all through high school to be valedictorian. Something my parents instilled in me. I prided myself on being the best. For their sake, to make them proud. But at what cost? My sanity. I have spent so much time studying and taking extra classes I have no idea who I am when my nose is not in a book learning. So, yea, drowning. Drowning in the weight of disappointing my parents. Drowning in options for college. Drowning in questions. Drowning in life.
I leave the library and drive home. My parents are still at work. I grab the mail on my way into the house and cringe at the two very clear acceptance letters I received in the mail today. I walk inside placing my parents’ mail on the island in the kitchen and storm up to my room. I toss the newest letters into the pile consisting of the other ten I have gotten over the last month. On my guidance counselor’s advice, I applied everywhere I knew I would be accepted. I am mentally cursing her for it now. I wrote fifteen essays, all different for each college. But while I wrote all the different letters, they asked the same question. “Why do you see “insert college name here” college as your first choice?”. I lay down on my bed shoes even still on and curl up under my blanket shadowing myself from the outside world. Blanketing all distractions. It is then I hear the voice of peace. Voice of reason speak to me.
“My child, you hide from me. You forget I can guide you better than the world.”
I do not answer the voice but I can feel the throat clogging emotions rising up. The voice continues.
“My child, you forget to pray to me. You have forgotten me.”
“No!” I say loudly through a sob. “I just…I don’t know what I thought.”
I guess I had forgotten I could lean on God.
“I’m sorry…” I whisper.
“My child, you are forgiven. Now let’s begin.”
At God’s words I feel a renewing in my spirit and a will to get out of bed. All of a sudden, a song begins in my head “New Wine” by Hillsong. And for the first time all year I feel purchase beneath my feet.
Definitely how many seniors are probably feeling right now.
Great job. <3
I feel this. The endless stream of questions at the start is a whirlwind, and a perfect picture of many people’s mental state. The reminder to lean on God often gets lost in the noise, but stories like this bring it back to the front of people’s mind. Thank you, and great job!
Dude the 15 different college essays is so real!! XD
Such an encouraging story. As a high school senior (who’s actually very very similar to your narrator) I feel the drowning too. Thanks for reminding me Who’s really in control. <3
I felt this. Definitely much more relatable. I’m glad you shared this because it’s these stories that make me snap out of my head and realize I am not alone. God is so good that even in the struggle, He forgives and renews!
Reading this really takes me back to senior year of high school… I don’t miss the constant pressure of it all. Great job capturing the feelings and essence of what it feels like, along the reminder that God wants our time, too, in those stressful times!
A great story. As a senior I feel just like that person. But I also forgot who I can and am supposed to lean on. Thank you for the reminder.
relatable, more so than you know, clear, concise-good job!
Thank you for this 🫶
thank you all for the kind feedback! I am kinda blown away by it. Thank you <3
Team A
Tadpoles
So this is what drowning feels like.
I really thought that if I did everything right, this sort of thing would never happen to me.
My plan went something like this:
- Find the Frog Prince. Check.
- Charm him into coming back to my palace with me. Check.
- Kiss him and turn him into his human form. Check. And Check.
- Marry him. Check.
- Ride into the sunset together in his rather mossy carriage. Check.
- Settle into his palace and have his children. No check for this one.
We’ve been married now for five years and we still have no children.
I had begun to wonder if I was the problem, or if maybe all his years as a frog had changed his ability to even father human children. I mean, his transformation could not have been natural. Whatever that witch did to him has never been quite undone. He looks human, he sounds human, but sometimes, I still feel like I’m the same room as an amphibian.
Don’t get me wrong, I really love him, my handsome froggy guy. And I’m willing to look the other way when he eats flies.
I would have done anything to give Herbert some baby tadpoles to carry on his family name and legacy. After all, he was the only son left. I think the others were transformed into newts. Fat chance of a princess finding them.
So I knew it was up to me. That’s why I risked visiting the old lady of the swamp. Some said she was a sea witch. I thought that sounded discriminatory. Just because she had had a run-in with some rude little mermaid didn’t make her a bad person. Necessarily.
I knew what to do.
- Swim down to the bottom of the swamp and find the old lady’s grotto.
- Barter with her to find out what could be done about our little problem.
- Go home and have Herbert’s children.
I pulled on my oldest boots and a stained tunic and underclothes, being sure to slip a dagger into my boots before trudging out to the swamp. I looked around for the spot with the least swamp grass, took a deep breath, and dove right in.
As I swam down toward the bottom of the swamp, I thought I could see a light through the grey-green water. I moved toward the light, still holding my breath, when I felt a thin bony hand grab my ankle.
I kicked my leg back and forth trying to free myself.
My air was running out and I willed myself to stay calm. I wondered if this really was what drowning felt like, but then I thought, “Not today.”
I reached down into my boot and grasped the dagger, and spun around in the water to face my attacker.
What I saw next made me drop the dagger.
It was Herbert. He had grabbed my ankle, and now released me long enough to grasp my hands and pull me above the waterline. We surfaced together and I took ragged gulps of air. We swam to the edge of the swamp and pulled ourselves out.
I squeezed the sea water out of my hair. “You terrified me! What were you doing?”
“I saw you jump in and jumped in after you.” Herbert asked. “What were you thinking? Don’t you know a sea witch lives down there?”
“I know,” I said, taking his hands. “I was going to visit her. I was hoping she could help us with our little problem.”
“Our problem?”
“We have no children, Herbert. I was going to find out if she could do anything about that.”
Herbert crouched next to me. “I know we have no children, but I’m alright with that. I thought I was going to live the rest of my life as a frog. Every day I live life as a human with you is more than I have a right to expect.”
I took his hand. “When you say things like that, it makes me want to start a family with you more than ever.”
“This isn’t the way.” He said. “She really is an evil sea-witch. But I did hear about a sorceress in the kingdom next to this one. Supposedly, she has some kind of lettuce that can help couples who can’t have children.”
“Lettuce?” I said. “We eat lettuce all the time. It’s literally your favorite food. Especially when it has flies on it.”
“I know, but this is special lettuce. It’s called…Ra, Ramen….a….Rapunzel!”
“Rapunzel, huh? I’ve never heard of that.”
“It’s worth a shot,” he said.
“Alright,” I smiled, tossing my wet braid over my shoulder. “New plan. 1. Go get some Rapunzel lettuce from a sorceress. 2. Start a family.”
Herbert hopped to his feet. “Sounds good! What could possibly go wrong?”
“Hands Full”
By: Hannah Stiff, Team A
So this is what drowning feels like.
The thought spewed out, along with the rest of my midday meal as I bent over the toilet.
I’d held myself together when Chad told me he had to work overtime and left with a kiss and “Call you at lunch hun.” I had stayed grounded when Eli woke up with a fever and promptly threw up the contents of his four year old stomach onto our carpeted stairs. I had even managed to keep my cool while Ethan squalled for the better part of the morning over emerging molars.
But then the lunch hour arrived, and Chad had texted and said his manager needed him in a meeting and could he call later? And Ethan had begged for yoghurt but there was none to be had, resulting in more angst. The tears didn’t diminish when I had laid him down for his afternoon nap, and his muffled blubbering collaborating with Eli’s moans followed me downstairs where first trimester nausea finally caught up with me.
My frame shuddered like a dying car engine, and I grasped the porcelain sides of the toilet, oblivious to its state of clean.
What was I thinking? I slammed the lid down and flushed, shivering in a cold sweat. I’m twenty six, didn’t they tell me children could wait?
And marriage, a snarky voice added. I remembered Chad’s text, and a tiny seed of bitterness dropped into my dangerously fertile mind. I dragged myself up to the sink and started splashing water onto clammy skin. I’d never given these thoughts the time of day before, but here they were, sauntering around like houseguests in my head.
The doorbell rang with maddening joviality. “Who?” I mumbled, dribbling water onto my shirt front.
Houseguest, my mind mockingly repeated and the bottom to my gut dropped out.
“Ava, today, no!” I gibbered wildly, cursing the mommy brain I was trapped in. I spun out of the bathroom and dashed for my bedroom closet. Ripping off my shirt, I replaced it with the first thing that popped off a hanger. A hesitant knock sounded, and I trapped my hair in a clip before sliding into the hall to answer it.
“NiCOLE!” Ava strolled through, manicured nails digging into my back as she pulled me into a hug. I returned it with a nervous laugh, praying she didn’t see or smell anything amiss.
“It’s been literally forever!” she continued, following me into the living room where a laundry basket was taking center stage on the coffee table.
“Oh, so sorry,” I stammered, grabbing it and a toy truck before sliding both into the hall.
“No worries.” She smiled calmly as I did a look around for more junk before sinking onto the couch beside her.
“How are you?” I faltered, thinking over the available snacks I could scrounge up in the pantry.
“Oh, busy!” she shrugged. “You know how the spring sales rush is, Jamie’s got us on the go, I’ve slept a solid eight hours every night this past week!”
I’ve heard that will do wonders for your body. I plastered a sympathetic smile onto my face and sighed.
Ava gave me a once over and started. “Oh my goodness, are you alright? You’re, you’re like all pale and washed out!”
“Oh, well, just some pregnancy side effects.” I laughed, wanting to grab her perfectly made up face and shake it.
“Ohmyword yesss! Number Three, right?” She shook her head, hoop earrings jingling. “Can’t believe it’s only been five years since you left us.” She nodded at my top as she spoke and I looked down.
Waterfront Women’s Wear graced the tee in cursive graphics. I felt like screaming. Of all the shirts to throw on! She must think I’m pining for my job or something.
“And where are those boys?” Ava continued quizzically.
As if on cue, a throaty wail burst out from the doorway. Ava jumped in surprise, and I bounded off the cushions to scoop Ethan up.
“Hey now buddy, what’s wrong?” I soothed, wiping his damp, ruddy cheeks and hushing his wails.
“Mamaaaaa!” was the only distinguishable answer I got, and with a sigh, I deposited myself into the easy chair across from Ava. I began to rock back and forth, murmuring a lullaby into his ear.
Mothering instincts took over any hospitality ones I owned, and I continued to rock, hoping my visitor was amusing herself with her socials while I got Ethan placated. As his sobs finally died down and exhausted sleep set in, I glanced up at Ava.
Tears were coursing down her cheeks, taking mascara and foundation with it. She opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together again and sniffed loudly.
“Ava, Ava what’s wrong?” I exclaimed, before realizing I was talking to her as if she were Ethan.
“It’s just, so precious,” she whispered, waving a hand in front of her eyes, her face crumpling like a newborn. “I’m sure I’m just repeating what everybody’s told you, but you’re such a beautiful mother.”
The words poured onto my head like a healing oil. “Oh goodness,” I demurred, hormones coursing through my body and threatening to spill over. “That’s sweet of you, I couldn’t ask for a better job.”
Ava shook her head, fishing for a tissue. “I wouldn’t know,” she caught her breath with a smile, and I could see the emptiness behind it. “Craig’s job is wackadoo, and I’ve got the management position now, so that,” she gestured to Ethan’s dozing body curled into my chest, “is currently off the table.”
Shame and thanksgiving rose up inside me like twin waves, drowning out the harsh voices of the last hour. “Don’t let anything keep you from this, Ava,” I whispered, blinking fast to clear my vision. “It’s God’s greatest gift to a woman.”
She caught my eye. “Could I hold him?”
I smiled and gently placed him in her arms.
Oh my goodness, this story is beautiful. She was so overwhelmed in the beginning, regretting her decisions, wishing she were somewhere else, only to find herself face-to-face with what she wished she had. But she finds that the greatest blessing is the one she already has. Hats off to you. Beautiful story.
This is incredible. On top of the excellent prose, this story felt like it was speaking directly to me (maybe it helped that my name is Ava…lol) Such a wonderful story. Keep up the good work!
Wow Ava, thanks for the encouragement! I’m glad the story spoke to you, that makes me so happy. (:
I really like this and I even had a little tear at Ava’s tears and words. The description and dialogue seemed very real to me.
Thanks alot Brenda! I was trying for the raw and real feel in this one, glad it came through!
I love how you didn’t pit Ava and Nicole against each other — and how you highlighted two different views of success in womanhood through this story. I’m glad that we got to explore Nicole’s hardships but also her blessings through Ava. Lovely writing!
Thanks Eunice! One thing I didn’t want to do in the story was to have that cliched animosity between the working professional wife and the stay at home wife. I’m glad you appreciated that part too! (:
Hey Faith, I didn’t see the comment until today, thanks for you beautiful words, they mean a lot! (:
So this is what drowning feels like.
The works ricochet around my head, but I press my lips together before they can slip out. I know better than to utter a single thing that might be heard by the sharks and piranhas that are the paparazzi currently tailing Michael and me. I would slip away before they could start asking questions, but the crowd around us is a surging sea that leaves us merciless to its push and pull. Besides, even if I could disappear, they wouldn’t let Michael and his three burly bodyguards go that easily.
Drowning, indeed.
It’s only been four months since I started dating him, before I became his love and his muse, and before I surrendered my anonymity forever. Two months since the media found out. And I don’t regret it; I love him. But dating a celebrity comes with a heavy price, and one of those is the possibility of being ambushed by paparazzi every time we attempt to go out for dinner.
“Michael Williams!” A woman shouts from the pack of black coats and cameras that seems to take two steps for every one we take to get away from them. “Over here!” A camera flashes in our faces.
Michael squeezes my hand reassuringly. He’s walking briskly, head down and face expressionless. He’s used to it; he can’t take two steps outside his apartment without this exact thing happening to him. But I’m not. I feel dizzy and unbalanced and slightly nauseous.
He mouths something to me that looks like, “We’re almost there.” The restaurant is only a few more blocks away, but it feels like miles of open sea.
You’re being dramatic, Amanda Jane, I tell myself sternly. I’ve been told by many that I’m a “very lucky young woman.” And I am– of course I am. But I can just see the photos in which I’ll look confused and pale and watery-eyed, accompanied by articles picking apart my appearance and fans critiquing everything about me down to the way I walk. It’s in moments like these that I begin to doubt whether I’m cut out for this life. Whether it’s worth it to be with him.
But I also know what will happen next. We’ll get to the restaurant, where no one can follow us, and he’ll apologize like he always does and kiss me enough to smear my waterproof lipstick and ensure a few articles about the lipstick it’ll leave on his face. Then we’ll eat, and talk, and forget about everything except for the two of us. Then I’ll fall in love with him all over again.
And I’ll think, how could I ever let a few moments of drowning make me doubt us?
I can make it a few more blocks.
I keep my head down and walk on.
Team A | Lydia Fiore
I’ve been thinking a lot about celebrities, and the media’s treatment of them, and the experience it must be to date one despite having no media training or preparation for it. That’s what inspired this story- also, the song that came on my Spotify when I sat down to write lol. Hope you all enjoy xx
Love the original take, and the imagery was great!! It reminds me of an episode I heard on an audio drama once!
thank you so much!! <3 💞
lydiaaa i love this!! <3
thank you Ava!!
Team #1
Different Isn’t Broken
So this is what drowning feels like.
It starts with the alarm—not the soft, apologetic beep of the microwave at home, but a monstrous shriek that splits the classroom wide open. It crashes through the ceiling, tears through the walls, and dives straight into Lila’s chest like a flock of wild birds with needle—sharp claws.
She clamps her hands over her ears. It doesn’t help. The sound is already inside—buzzing, burning, bouncing off every part of her body.
Around her, chairs scrape back. Kids are shouting—some laughing, some complaining—but all of it melts into the same unbearable noise. Ms. Bauer claps her hands, trying to herd twenty-seven third graders into something like a line.
Lila can’t move.
She’s locked in her seat, frozen mid-breath. Her arms curl around her head like armor. Her heart is galloping, her stomach churns. Her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out.
The air feels thick. The light overhead flickers. The hum of the fluorescent bulbs turns into a siren of its own. Even the floor seems to vibrate beneath her sneakers.
Everything is too much, too loud, too fast.
So this is what drowning feels like.
A memory rises, uninvited—a time when she was six and got knocked over by a wave at the beach. The water pushed her down and spun her around, filling her nose and eyes and ears. When she finally surfaced, coughing and blinking, she didn’t know which way was the shore.
This feels like that.
She hears her name, distant and far away. Once. Then again. A voice slicing through the chaos like a small, thin thread of silk.
Footsteps. Closer now.
A hand touches her shoulder.
The lights flicker again. The hum of electricity drills into her spine.
So this is what drowning feels like.
“It’s okay, Lila,” Ms. Bauer says. Her voice is low and calm, like a weighted blanket in sound.
Lila likes weighted blankets.
“It’s just a drill, sweetheart. I know it’s loud. But we’re safe. You’re safe.”
Lila doesn’t answer. Her legs are shaking. Her hands are still clamped over her ears, but Ms. Bauer stays beside her, kneeling on the tile.
Lila peeks up through her hair. The classroom is almost empty now. The other kids are gone—lined up outside, chattering, waiting to be checked off on a clipboard. No one notices the girl left behind.
Except Ms. Bauer. She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t pull. Her patience like soup steam on a cold day.
“Can I hold your hand?” Ms. Bauer asks.
Lila blinks once, then nods—barely. Her fingers uncurl, and Ms. Bauer slips her hand gently into Lila’s, palm to palm.
Lila lets herself breathe. In. Out. Slowly. The alarm is still blaring, but there’s something about that hand in hers—solid, steady—that makes the noise feel a little further away.
She stands. Her knees tremble like they might give out, but they don’t. Together, they walk. Past the desks. Past the wall of crayon drawings. Out into the hallway.
Her teacher shields her slightly, like a buffer against the chaos. Another teacher down the hall gives them a thumbs-up. Ms. Bauer returns it with a nod, her other hand still holding Lila’s. They don’t speak.
Outside, the world is different. The alarm stops. The sky stretches wide and blue overhead. The breeze smells like grass and warm pavement. There are birds somewhere nearby. Real ones, not the kind with claws in their chest.
Lila squints in the sunlight. Her body still buzzes, but the worst of the storm has passed. Ms. Bauer anchored her through it. She’s still holding her teacher’s hand. She doesn’t let go just yet.
“You did something really brave,” Ms. Bauer says gently. “You stayed. You breathed. You let someone help.”
Lila lowers her gaze to the ground. A small ant crawls over the toe of her shoe. It doesn’t seem to mind the drill. It just keeps going.
“I didn’t mean to get stuck,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
Ms. Bauer crouches beside her. “You weren’t stuck. You were overwhelmed. That’s not the same thing.”
“But everyone else—”
“Everyone else isn’t you,” Ms. Bauer says. “And different isn’t broken.”
Lila looks up. Her throat tightens again, but not in fear this time. She lets go of Ms. Bauer’s hand—slowly, on her own.
The breeze lifts her hair. She breathes all the way in, and all the way out.
For the first time since the alarm, her chest doesn’t feel like it’s caving in.
I didn’t drown.
Wow! Descriptive and rather visceral. I love it! This story needs to be shared. There are many children (and adults) who get overwhelmed and feel alone and broken.
Thanks, Annette. That’s very encouraging to hear! I’ve written a few pieces related to neurodivergence which really tugs at my heart. We are a neurodivergent family 🥰
This story is beautiful! “Everyone else isn’t you. And different isn’t broken.” I will write those words on my heart. Thank you for this powerful story ❤️.
Team #1
Drowning by Ada Flannery
So this is what drowning feels like.
Not the flailing, screaming kind they show in movies. No, this is quieter. Slower. It begins with wonder, awe and hope. You dive in with purpose, chasing something unseen, something beautiful, forbidden or both. The water is cool at first, welcoming, folding around you like a second skin. You go deep, deeper than planned. The surface light fractures above you, turning the world into shifting shards of gold and blue. Then the glow fades. The water grows colder. Heavier. Pressure builds in your ears and chest, surrounding you like a tightening vice. The world turns darker with every stroke.
And for some reason, you keep going.
At first, there’s still hope. You tell yourself you can make it back. Just kick hard enough. Just stay calm. Just a little farther. You picture bursting through the surface, sunlight flooding your face, sweet air rushing into your lungs. You imagine the shoreline in the distance, soft sand, solid ground. You imagine a hand reaching into the water, gripping yours. You imagine rescue.
But your legs are tired. Slow. Your muscles ache like they’ve been replaced with iron. The tank strapped to your back shudders once, lets out a hollow hiss. The last breath waits inside it, warm and stale. You cradle it in your chest like something sacred, something final. As long as you hold it, you’re still alive.
Your lungs begin to scream. Not whisper, scream. Each second stretches, taut and unbearable. You try to focus. Try to remember. Something from when you were younger, swimming class. You were eight. “Follow the bubbles,” the instructor said. “They always rise. They’ll show you the way up.”
So you release a breath. Just a little. Silver bubbles drift upward—or sideways, or maybe downward—you can’t tell anymore. The water presses against your skull. Your eyes sting in the dark. You reach for the bubbles, slow and clumsy, your fingers slicing through nothing.
You don’t get far.
The final bit of air slips from your lips. The pressure collapses inward. The water rushes in, filling your mouth, your throat, your lungs. It’s like swallowing fire. A sharp, burning cold that drowns everything else. You try to cough, to scream, to resist. Your body jerks, spasms, claws at the void.
And then…. stillness.
Your limbs go slack. The panic falls away like a shed skin. Your heartbeat slows, heavy and distant, like it’s echoing from somewhere far outside your body. The ache in your lungs fades. There’s only numbness now, and a strange, floating calm.
You no longer know which way is up.
The dark around you thickens into velvet. Not terrifying. Not peaceful. Just… quiet. You drift. Suspended. Dying becomes less of a moment and more of a slipping. Like falling asleep in a room that’s gone cold.
And in those last seconds, something stirs behind your eyes.
You remember sunlight, real sunlight, on your skin, warm and golden, the way it made everything glow. The sound of laughter echoing through a canyon. The feeling of a blanket pulled over your shoulders by hands you trusted. The curve of a smile. The weight of a dog’s head in your lap. A name spoken softly. Yours.
Then even memory lets go.
The cold cradles you now, the deep welcoming you like a long-lost child. There is no fear left. No pain. No breath.
You are no longer swimming.
No longer sinking.
You are simply gone.
Stop it, Ada, you’re making me cry. But seriously, this is wonderful–very unique story and bold to shoot for second-person! You took it from just a vignette of drowning to a real story with your word choice and the little details you reveal about the person. Great job!
Thanks so much, I wasn’t sure how well this would do, I’m glad you like it !
Team A
“Going Home”
“So this is what drowning feels like,” I thought.
With the impenetrable darkness surrounding me from all sides, the weight of the water began to press upon my bones as I hovered weightlessly in its depth. I knew the underwater cliff was poised before me less than five feet away, but there were no shades of this darkness, only black making everything around me seem like unmoving rock. Closing my eyes enticed a calmness to spread through me when I suddenly remembered to breathe through my mouthpiece. Taking the air in slowly I relished the fact that my lungs filled with air in usually an automatic fashion, but at this moment it was a precious breath, a freeing breath. No outside world could reach me in this peace.
A crackling came over my earphones.
“Why’d you turn the light off?”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “It just went out.”
After another static noise, Yohan replied, “Put your hand on the end of the light and give it a twist.”
Following his order obediently, my fingers walked to the round end of my light, gripping it before twisting. The brightness smacked my goggles as my eyes began to adjust to the absence of any rays. Swinging the flashlight slightly to the right allowed the beam to spread its reach along the cliff revealing the jutting rocks along its face. I spotted a sparkling reflection of light below the beam and turned to allow my flippers to float up behind my body for propulsion in hopes of finding the artifact I sought.
“I think I see tube about thirty meters to the right. Swimming now, but it looks partially stuck in some rocks,” I announced.
“Of course its stuck in some rocks, Kit. Just get our wire on it.”
I reached the two-foot-long metal tracking device that had wedged its three wings in a crevice with the round end angling downward. I removed the clip from my belt and attached it to the ring on the bottom of the tube.
“Okay, wire connected. Give it a gentle tug.”
When the wire pulled taught, the tube only moved a few inches to straighten up.
With only a wiggle of my flippers I swam a little upward to be ready to latch on when it came free.
“It moved. Go again.”
After a five second wait the wire pulled again, raising the nose of the device a few more inches but the wings remained caught.
“Hang on,” I said.
“Copy that. Hanging on.”
With my free hand I removed the wire grip and attached it to the cable lowering myself to be next to the tube. Since I would need both hands for this, I gave the light a gentle lift as I let go so it would float next to me. With both hands I gripped the nozzle of the tube to give it a hard twist which freed the wings as some loose rock which had helped keep it wedged jumped out like popcorn from an open hot pan.
One hand taking back the floating light, the other clasping the grip I had attached to the line I placed both flippers on the rock face for a forceful push away.
As I shut the light off, I looked upwards and stated, “Clear of the face, bring us home.”
While blackness was around me once again, my eyes were fixed above revealing the perfect glow of our destination, which was where both my boat, and my home resided. Much could be learned from the darkness, or better from how we act in that dark depth.
“Coming up at a constant, safe rate,” he replied. “And your light went out again. Pretty scary in the dark isn’t it. Kind of like drowning.”
“Actually,” I said, “I found it peaceful. That is until your voice shattered the silence.”
“Great, Darling. Bringing you home. Job well done.”
I’m afraid to scuba dive, so I read this with a little anxiety. LOL. Beautiful description. I really like it
Thanks Brenda. I have never been scuba diving. Really have no clue there. I am curious to know how dark it can get but I think you may have to go really deep for this to happen.
The Empty Seat
Team A 🐸
So this is what drowning feels like.
The blinding lights fall on Jules, stilling the audience and hushing the whispers backstage. They all wait, held in suspense.
She looks out at the hundreds of faces in the dark auditorium, eyes scanning each row until she finds the one empty. Pain strikes her and she turns away, studying the way each actor brightens upon discovering their seats full.
A lump forms in her throat just as her time comes to speak. She takes a breath, and another, glancing down at the rose and gold gown.
Right now, she is Miranda. She isn’t on stage, but on a tropical island surrounded by wonders few eyes have ever beheld. She is not abandoned. She is surrounded by people, one of whom is gazing at her with such intensity that it is a wonder she can look elsewhere.
She breathes again.
Her heart races as she opens her mouth, digging into the emptiness of the crowd and fueling Miranda. Miranda’s hopes, and dreams, all crash over Jules. Soon the wave has passed and the struggle is complete. Tears spill over her face.
“I am a fool. To weep at what I am glad of.”
The stage bursts with a salty sea breeze at the utterance of the words, tugging at Miranda’s hair as she watches Ferdinand’s concern blossom into infatuation.
Together they explore Prospero’s island, each step leaving a piece of Jules in the sand. Before she knows it, the crashing sound of the waves morphs into thunderous applause.
Miranda slowly fades away with each clap, leaving Jules’ heart to beat wildly against her chest as she rushes into the dressing room and away from the chaos of moving props and beaming actors.
She wipes the beads of sweat from her forehead and straightens her gown. The mirror is overcrowded with girls, far more competition than Jules is eager to waste time on, so she waits.
The voices of Shakespeare’s people ricochet off the concrete walls. The voices are all empty on their own but incredibly stunning together. The hours they’ve spent as a team, perfecting every line, and every gesture, are all woven into a beautiful harmony. For what the audience sees anyway.
Backstage is loud. The assistant director is on her third coffee of the night, her headset sits crooked, and she tries to simultaneously quiet the nervous teens and direct the stage crew. A girl huddles in the corner, mascara, and eyeliner smearing as she lifts a shaky hand to wipe away the price of missing a line that she pays for in tears. At the same time, another stands in front of a small group of the ensemble, a beaming smile like a billboard letting the others know she played her part well.
A boy with frizzy hair rushes into the room, shouting about some shoes and a missing wand. Few pay him any mind; some roll their eyes at the amount of wands Prospero needs.
And then a group filters into the room, signaling the end of the scene and the return of Miranda. Jules prays her eyes do not fall upon that empty seat once more, or again into the crowd of people all watching her with analyzing eyes.
She takes her spot behind the curtain, dodging a group of boys comparing fake mustaches and a girl struggling with a mic. Finn is already there, stealing one more glance at the script he had memorized weeks before.
He gives her a quick nod as she approaches, “You ready?”
She dries her hands on her dress, “I guess we’ll see.”
“You’ll do great,” he tosses the script aside and offers her his arm.
Together they step into the light and back onto the island.
Jules blinks away the effects of the harsh lights and slips back into her role. There she stands on the sandy rock, all at once confused and overjoyed. Beside her stands the love of her life, the man she never dreamed of. But in front of her, imprisoned by his deeds, stands the man who gave her life. For a moment she feels abandoned, betrayed. He told her he would be there for her all her life, to guide her, and to love her as only he knew. But now a storm had stolen the father she knew, and thrown her into a reality she didn’t know existed.
So many people stand around them, and Ferdinand squeezes her arm as he declares his lines- perfectly.
It was her turn.
She scans the room, watching every face that turns to her. Awe fuels Miranda as the silence beckons her to join them, in this new life unfolding before her.
“O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world. That has such people in’t!”
They smile in response to the bubbling voice, unaware of the depth in which she speaks, of the experience that paints the colors so deep in her expression. These people were new and different from what both Miranda and Jules were used to, but they showed their care for her. They showed up when the people who should care weren’t there, and that meant more than she could show on stage.
Applause breaks through her thoughts, and quickly Miranda disperses from her mind, retreating into a quiet place in her mind until the next performance.
Finn beamed at her as they took position to bow, but her heart constricted at the thought of facing that empty chair. She escapes from the stage as fast as she can through the storage room and out the first exit.
Her fists curl as she struggles to breathe, tears burning behind her eyelids.
Then a hand reaches out, taking hold of her shoulder. “For you.”
She opens her eyes, sheepishly accepts the bouquet, and watches as Finn retreats with pink cheeks.
The label bore no name, but a promise.
You’re not alone.
*All quotes are taken from Shakespeare’s The Tempest
aww I love this 😔 lovinggg the theater kid vibes & your use of the prompt was so clever!!
Thank you so much Lydia!! <3
I enjoyed writing from a different perspective than I normally do, so I’m glad you enjoyed reading it 😊
this is so good!!
Thank you Ava!! <3
Free the Captives
Lucas Helm, Team A
“So this is what drowning feels like,” James threw a rock against the cold hard stone of his damp prison cell. Constantly smothered under a constant drive of darkness. Despair was prevalent, for no one had ever made it out of the prison of Impaargu alive. He didn’t even remember why he was there in the first place. He threw the rock against the wall again in frustration, but then heard another sound. He looked out of the small window in his cell, the one ray of light blinding him. Then he saw something he never thought he would, a smiling young man.
“Want some help?” he asked.
“Who wouldn’t!” James yelled.
“Stand back,” the young man said. James obeyed, and within seconds, the wall was blown open, allowing light to flow freely into the cell.
James took his chance and climbed out of the opening, but as he did, about fifteen others poured in.
“You ready Bradford? I wouldn’t be upset if you just observed, this is your first mission after all,” The young man said to another boy, this one clad in a cloak that appeared white at first, but as he moved, it flowed with a variety of colors.
“No, I know my purpose now. I’ll see you on the other side, Jeremiah,” Bradford leapt into the prison with the others.
“That’s my boy,” Jeremiah smiled proudly, then realized he had a guest, “I’m so sorry, James right?”
“How did you know?”
“Because we’ve met before.”
“Whaaaaaaa..?”
“You must be awfully confused, here, come out of there and drink from this creek here, the water is fresh.”
James obeyed, and after a long refreshing drink of fresh ice cold water (of which he had been deprived in prison) he turned back to Jeremiah, “Alright, now for answers.”
“Of course! So, tell me, what do you remember?”
“Nothing besides these dark prison walls.”
“It is a shame really, the Parrallellian is so careful about Universals. He always erases their memories before he delivers them to one of his many prisons, this one run by Lord Impaargu.”
“Where is he?”
“The Parrallellian, we never know. Lord Imparrgu fled at the first sign of trouble like the coward that he is. His guards however are brainwashed people like you, forced into endlessly serving here, and they protect it with their lives.”
“You didn’t… Kill them, did you?”
“By no means! We simply used weapons coated with blue-green snake venom. Completely harmless, but will knock them out for up to twelve hours.”
“So… Why are you here?”
“To rescue people like you. Universals, people drawn out of their own universe to help for a greater cause in another. Those who are simply commoners who got in the way of these tyrants are freed too, and offered to join our cause. If they refuse, they are simply returned to their original time and place.”
Just then, Bradford came out of the rubble.
“Ah, here’s our newest lightbearer now!” Jeremiah smiled. Bradford’s expression was not so jovial. “What is wrong my friend?”
Bradford sat on a nearby rock, obviously shaken, “There are people in there, many of whom we freed but some… Some of them flee from the light.”
“I was afraid of this,” Jeremiah shuddered, “Those are the lost ones, people who have been in darkness so long that they learn to hate the light. There is little that can be done for them except to pray. God has saved many of them. Tell me, of the captives, how many were there?”
“Out of the ninety eight captives, nine were lost.”
“Ten percent,” Jeremiah grimaced, “If only we could’ve been here sooner. If only Lucas and Karalyn were here. Their scouting and combat prowess would’ve allowed us to save many more.”
“Did they die?” James asked.
“Well no… But they aren’t here. Truth is… I don’t know where they are. However, that’s a depressing story for another time.”
“Sir!” Another soldier ran out of the rubble, “We’ve just received word that a contingent of soldiers are on their way here!”
“Then it is too late. Come, help me gather the freed captives. Tell me, James, do you wish to join us like you once were, or would you rather return to your past life?”
“Seeing what I have, there is no place I’d rather be than fighting this darkness with you all.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Now, let’s get out of here, and quickly!”
“How do you plan on doing that?” Bradford scoffed, “The guards are all on horse back and we’re escorting eighty-one captives on foot!”
“Who said we’d be on foot?”
“I’m not following…”
“Lord Impaargu keeps a large collection of horses conveniently in the field right outside the castle. Two to a horse would be around forty I’d say, and with his vast wealth, I’d say he has more than enough.”
“You guys are crazy,” James laughed.
“You think this is crazy! Just wait until you see Illyadu!”
“Illyadu?”
“Right, you still don’t remember. It is Elvish for The Refuge. It’s where all of us Universals live when we aren’t on assignments. Now saddle up!”
“Right, I’ll help the other captives.”
“That’s the spirit,” Jeremiah smiled, another one of them had seen the light. No matter the risk, freeing the captives of darkness would always be worth it. As they rode through the green pastures away from that dark castle, Jeremiah wondered when they would hear from their enemy, Lord Impaargu, or his evil master, the Parrallellian, next. Only time would tell. All he knew was that the captives weren’t drowning in darkness anymore, but were instead, bathing in the light.
I really enjoyed this! I totally would love to read more from this world. Do you have plans or have you written more in this setting?
My main work (a fanfiction I couldn’t publish due to copyright reasons) is slightly connected to this, but doesn’t cover nearly as much as it could; however, I would like to develop this into a full novel at some point in the future
I’m glad to see previous characters, Bradford and Jeremiah, again! Also, I am very glad you are revisiting this story of the Universals. I also liked that little “cameo”
Content warnings: mental and physical trauma
Team A (Herbert)
Should I stay or should I go?
By Camila Justice
So this is what drowning feels like.
Empty.
Bare.
Vulnerable.
My arms are scarred from the torture that I underwent while trapped in that wrecked embrace. My heart is no longer four connected chambers. Every curl I thought was gorgeous, mutilated. Every bit of hope I had clung to, gone.
All because of him and what he made me do.
The wall has memorized the feel of my back sliding down it.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Like I’m drowning in my own misery.
…maybe I am.
Instead of oxygen, the air is full of regret. I should have never picked up the post-it note with those 10 digits spelled out in messy handwriting.
Lizzie.
Lizzie.
Lizard.
What a snake he was. And I, his lizard.
Am I guilty for what happened to those innocent people who felt his wrath? Am I responsible for the destruction of dozens of families? Was it I who severed bonds with my own bare hands?
I know the answer is no.
But why does it feel like it’s a yes?
I almost have enough to change my name. It’s been hard to find consistent employment where I won’t have to venture outside, but I’m just a few shifts away.
After the duty is done, I’ll be safe. After this one last tie to him is gone, I won’t have to run anymore.
I sigh happily, burying my hands into my pockets. I used to do the same to my hair. I pace erratically on the lawn, awaiting my employer. It is half-past noon now, although she said she would arrive in the morning.
This feels like a trap.
Should I stay or should I go?
Before I can decide, a swag mustang pulls up to the driveway. In a flash, the driver is out and ambling over to me.
Only, this isn’t the body of a woman.
No…
It’s him.
I’m sure of it.
Should I stay or should I go?
This feels like a trap.
It feels like I’m drowning.
It feels like his hands are around my shoulders and he’s whispering the words I never wanted to hear again: “I need you to do one more thing for me.”
Nice! i could feel the menace and the despair in the situation. Also, I appreciated your use of spacing and text to give that feel of sinking.
Team Herbert (A)
So, this is what drowning feels like.
That was all I could think as I sunk into the water, legs and arms flailing to get control.
I felt myself slipping, losing myself to the water as I sunk lower into the ocean.
I don’t want to die. Come on, please, Lord, I don’t want to die yet…I have to stay with my sister…not yet…
I struggled, feeling my lungs lose oxygen and my eyes widen.
It wasn’t just what drowning felt like, it was more like what I’d imagined getting swallowed whole felt like.
I felt myself sink deeper.
Then everything went dark.
“Gwen? Gwen, wake up! Are you okay? GWEN!” My little sister, Jewel, shouted, shaking my shoulders.
My vision was fuzzy as she yanked me up, coughing water everywhere.
I saw my best friend, Nara, above me as well. “You can’t die on me, we have a competition to get to!”
“What happened?” I murmured.
“You almost drowned,” said the quizzically calm voice of Captain Leonard.
“I fell…” I muttered, trailing off as the fatigue took hold.
“You did,” he agreed, smirking a little, pushing his glasses up his nose.
He didn’t look like the captain of a passenger ship.
He looked more like an old college professor.
I looked around.
“Where are we? What happened to the boat?” I asked frantically.
Nara and Jewel both crossed their arms. “We’ve been trying to figure that out too. One second we were on the boat, the next we were in the water, now we’re…here. Wherever here is. It’s some kind of magical island.” They said, overlapping one another.
I stared around, palm trees and sandy beaches, but with a cap of water over the top somehow, I could see the sea creatures outside the dome.
I wondered what it would feel like to touch that water.
I turned my head as far as I could, spotting something that resembled a palace. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured, “are we dead? Is this what heaven looks like?”
“It looks,” Leonard said slowly, “like Atlantis, to me.”
“Atlantis? Are you sure?!” I yelped.
“Perfectly possible,” the captain said with a shrug. “But not sure, necessarily.”
“That’s terrifying,” I said.
“That’s impossible,” Nara said.
“Are there mermaids?” Asked Jewel cheerfully, holding her teddy and practically trotting along the beach. “MERMAIDS, WHERE ARE YOU?!”
“Mermaids? Doubtful,” Nara huffed.
“Unicorns, then?! UNICORNS, WHERE ARE YOU?!” Jewel shouted into the abyss.
“Next she’ll recommend phoenixes or dragons,” I huffed, pushing myself to my feet. This was bad. We had to get to that competition, we had to win that money, we had to get to Florida, to Uncle Jeremy’s.
To Mom and Dad, who had left us with our grandmother, who had died a few weeks ago. If we won the money, and then went down to Kentucky, where Uncle Jeremy lived, we could get our own house and not all have to live there together.
It was a perfect plan.
And now they were in Atlantis instead.
“This is bad,” I muttered, finally voicing my thoughts.
“Is it, though?” Leonard asked. He was supposed to get us to the music competition, and Nara was supposed to come with us and play the flute.
That was how it was supposed to work—all neat and in order.
Clearly, that wasn’t God’s plan this time.
“There has to be a logical explanation for this,” I grumbled.
“Does there, though? Is anything logical?” Leonard asked, a pondering expression crossing his wrinkled face.
Great, I thought, not only am I in Atlantis, the lost kingdom or whatever, I’m stuck with only a lunatic professor for the adult of the situation, a very small little sister who will want to stay in this land forever, and my all-business best friend.
“Be careful,” I called to Jewel as she ran over the sand, giggling wildly.
“NO!” She squealed, touching the water.
“NO!” I shouted, running to stop her.
Then suddenly, they were back on the boat.
And it wasn’t sunk.
But they were sure soaked.
“Never speak of this again, it was a hallucination,” Nara said immediately.
“Hallucination, or fascination?” Leonard muttered, walking towards the steering of the ship.
Jewel pouted, “I didn’t see a mermaid.”
“I hope we never do, that would mean we were doing it again,” Nara mumbled.
And on the way back, money secured and ready to go to Kentucky, it happened again.
And this time, they explored Atlantis.
I don’t know, it was kind of random but enjoyable. A little short, but I feel like maybe it could be a novel eventually. I might play with it in the future. Hope you enjoyed, and constructive criticism is 100% welcome!
I think the idea of Atlantis if fascinating, especially when the prompt so heavily alludes to water. Random or not, it was a fun read, great job!
Aw, thanks so much Lucas! Glad you enjoyed!
I was shocked once Atlantis was named as I was reading. I always found it a very intriguing topic — a city under the seas. Until I read about Tyre in the Book of Ezekiel. Though they were not fully submerged, parts or cities were submerged in water. I really think this could be a novel eventually. I just think there are many unanswered points here, so I hope you keep exploring this story!
Thicker than Water
So this is what drowning feels like.
A ceaseless deluge, overwhelming all, pressing down on you and choking the very air from your lungs.
I crumple to my knees in the grass, pressing my hands over my ears as if that will stop it. Noise, pictures, and words pound against my skull, like breakers on a sea cliff. Pure chaos. Dizzying, making me want to vomit. My vision goes black, like I’m about to pass out.
Distantly, a voice breaks in, registering with my ears but barely with my brain. “Cyrus?”
Impossible. I never thought anyone could get inside my head. Me. Of all people!
“Cyrus?” The question is repeated, this time accompanied by a concerned hand on my shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I grind out. With a tremendous effort, I push back. Creating space. Regaining control. My mind is mine. I climb to my feet.
Nathan grips my shoulder as I wobble. “What is it?”
I turn to him, building up a mental wall and forcing the writhing influx behind it. “They’ve got a telepath too.”
His face goes white, and he gazes out at the opposite hill across the battlefield. “What? Another Gifted? Impossible!”
“She’s good,” I add.
“How do you know it’s a she?”
“I don’t know. I just do. Something about the feel of those thoughts, it’s like a signature. I’ve always been able to tell.”
Now that I’m focusing on it, there’s even something a bit familiar about this attack. I can sense an impotent rage as the thoughts batter against my mental walls, trying to break in and disrupt me again. It reminds me of…
“Is this going to be a problem, Cy?” Nathan surveys the battlefield with a growing scowl.
“No. I can hold her back. She just caught me off… by the six seas! I remember now!”
“Remember? What do you mean? I need you to focus! Look, Yremi’s calvary is pulling back! What is their commander plann –”
“Doesn’t matter!” I shout. “That’s Elsa!”
I knew I’d felt her mental touch before. Just once, and a very long time ago, with much in between to have swept the memory from my mind. But I’m certain it’s her.
Nathan’s clutching his sword hilt convulsively, like a hound straining at the leash. But he pauses when he hears the name. “Elsa?”
“The Battle of Falden Hills. Remember?”
He squints. “Your sister?”
I nod, gazing at the distant hilltop, and the cluster of tents and yellow banners. A picture rushes to my mind’s eye: a woman, just an ordinary archer. An enemy soldier. Wounded and left behind on the field. I’d walked up to her. I’d been young, and according to Nathan, still far too quick to pity. I’d knelt and offered my waterskin, gently reaching into her mind at the same time to see what I might find.
It had happened in a flash. In the physical, she’d lunged forward and slashed at me with a knife. In the mental, I’d touched a seething wildness like nothing I’d felt before… and yet it was strangely familiar, like a face you know from childhood but can’t put a name to.
I’d staggered back with confusion and a bleeding gash in my arm. Nathan had run up then and dragged me away, off the field.
I roll up my sleeve, fingers finding the scar amongst many others from years of campaigning. They’ve been hard years, and not even Iolair’s prized telepath escaped every battle unscathed.
After the incident, I’d wracked my brain for weeks, frustrated that a man whose greatest strength was his mind could be foiled by the mere echo of a memory.
Finally, distraught, I’d gone to Father. In those days, he’d still been alive, but confined to his bed. I’d described the woman to him, and how her thoughts had felt. During the conversation, his face began to transform. Then finally, he’d broken down and, sobbing, explained why I’d never seen my mother, why I’d never even known that I had a sister.
It was a pitiful tale. Two people, from different countries, bound briefly in love and then forever divided by the call for a Gifted soldier to fight for his king.
But though I was desperate to find her at first, I’d never seen her again after that day and life had gone on, full of wars to be fought and secrets to be stolen.
I close my eyes and reach out across the distance. Elsa.
Shock springs back at me, followed by recognition. And anger.
Traitor, she hisses.
Elsa, please. I never knew.
You fight against your kin! You force yourself into our minds and reveal our plans to the butchers you serve!
And you don’t?
She is silent for a moment. Then, I am only here to fight YOU. We do not stoop to Iolair’s depths.
My response surprises even myself, leaping from some softhearted part of me that I thought had long since been smothered. I don’t want to fight you.
This gives her pause, but only for a moment. Ha! Weakling.
Do you call love weak? I silently shout across the expanse.
You have no love for me. You never even knew me. You care nothing for the land of our forefathers. The land of our family. You’re just like Father.
I swallow hard.
“What are you doing?” Nathan growls. “There’s a war going on and I need to know –”
“I’m talking to Elsa,” I snap.
His eyes go wide at my tone, but he doesn’t interrupt again.
Elsa. Please. I WANT to know you.
You want nothing but conflict.
Not with you.
Elsa goes quiet, and I fear that she has ended the conversation forever.
Then, abruptly, the assaulting thoughts withdraw. My mind is clear.
Stay out of my head, she growls. Tonight, find me on the old sea-cliff road. Fiftieth mile.
I take a deep breath, and smile, though she can’t see it. Thank you… sister.
Go Team Herbert!
Kinsey this is so cool. To feel like you are drowning telepathically is an intriguing twist. You didn’t waste many words on description so that allowed you to carry the conversation further into your story. Really nice.
Surfin’ Sharky — TEAM A
So, this is what drowning feels like. I knew this would happen. Rolling headfirst into a spastic somersault, down into the gurgling commotion, my bottom hits the floor, and my legs scrape the sand. Tossed about, around, and around, saltwater up my nose, bubbles bang against my torso, like little engine pistons. Sharks with their black lifeless eyes invade my mind.
A sudden jerk of my arm, a hand grips my armpit. Up I go, straight to the surface like a human fishing bobber. My mouth flies open gulping in the air, gasping for life. My eyes finally open to see white puffy clouds against blue sky. White teeth appear, Uncle Rand’s smiling. His tanned, creased face and wild sunburned hair floating above me.
Arms flapping, splashing, a wailing cry desperately wants to blast out of my throat, but Uncle Rand’s brown twinkling eyes look straight into mine, urging me to let go and trust. Trust the water, trust him. Trust myself.
“Take a deep breath, Lizzie. Relax, I got you”
All I want is to go back to the beach towels, cousins, the cooler of drinks, solid ground. Uncle Rand’s grip loosens as I begin to tread water and reach for his white surfboard. We rise and fall together in the dark, grey waters.
Lying on his board, his face is level with mine. A mix of fury and terror surge inside my chest.
“I almost died!”
“You didn’t, though!” His eyes widen and his smile gets bigger.
“I almost did!”
“You wiped out! You didn’t die!” He keeps his gaze upon me.
“I can’t do it,” I choke out, water lapping at my chin, my eyes squinting from the salty sting. My legs gently kick and move beneath me, as the water settles between swells. I look all around us and as far as the ocean reaches the sky. Shivering. Panic like the cresting, crashing waves is ready to drown me. Why did I let him talk me into this? I’m only twelve! I’m from Ohio! We don’t surf in Ohio.
“Hey! You survived the washing machine!”
“Can we please just go back?! I want to go back!”
“What are you scared of? Look around, it’s awesome out here!”
“What am I scared of?!”
My legs have found an easy rhythm, an arm on his board resting, my voice is shaky and high-pitched, “I’m scared of sharks “ My eyes are scanning the water for any fins breaking the surface.
“Sharks?! Sharks?! Do you think I’d be out here if I thought there were sharks in the water?”
Up and down we bob in a gentle cadence. Do I think he’d be out here if he knew there were sharks? There’s only one answer to that.
“Yes! Yes, I do!”
His head flips back, eyes toward the sky and he laughs hard. His head and shoulders shaking, chin tilted back, his white puka shell necklace jangles under his Adam’s apple, like tiny clapping cheerleaders.
“Okay, fair enough,” Still chuckling he pulls me up on his board with one big swoop as he pops up on his knees making room as I stretch out and grab the sides of the board. Relief rises in me knowing we’re heading back to the beach chairs and towels.
Uncle Rand starts paddling, the board moves with strong jolts, then suddenly takes a sharp turn away from the shore.
“Hey, you’re going the wrong way! I want to go back,” I twist my head to look up at him, glaring at his betrayal.
No answer. He paddles further out. A hill of water builds in front of us and Uncle Rand digs in hard to the top. We drop to the other side and the sudden fall tickles my stomach. Right in front of my face is a dark, glassy wall. Patches of light glint and sparkle across its surface. We’re near the peak, our faces upward at the blue sky and rippling mass. Uncle Rand expertly spins the board around, pops up on both feet, and now we are off like a speeding torpedo. We’re high in the air, then drop suddenly at lip of wave—propelled into the barrel. Now we are gliding! My wet hair flies behind me, the spray of water, the wind and crashing waves roaring in my ears. Uncle Rand’s feet on either side of me pushes and guides our ride. Speeding toward the beach, my cousins in colorful suits run back and forth waving at us. Gripping the sides with both hands, I’m perfectly relaxed, perfectly tuned in to the glide. Uncle Rand and the board are one with the waves, the water, the sky, the air, the eagles.
My mouth involuntarily screams, but not from terror or fury. Glorious joy erupts through my body and joins all the bubbling laughter and chatter of the spray.
Uncle Rand cruises his board into the tumbling white foam and straight toward my waiting cousins who are squealing and waving at us as we slowly reach the shore. I tumble off laughing uncontrollably.
“That was so awesome!”
Uncle Rand skips off the board, grinning his white toothy grin..
“You caught a wave, Lizzie!” he shouts, holding his thumb and pinky up high! “You did it.”
The hot sun bakes my shoulders, my hair sticks to my neck, and I reach for scratches on my leg from the sandy wipe out.. “That was so awesome.” I cackle and giggle. “Can we do it again?”
He lifts his board and looks down at me, one eyebrow raised? “Aren’t you scared?”
I stand and look out at the waves, hopping from one foot to the next. “Let’s go again!”.
“Hey, there’s sharks out there!” He nods toward the waves.
“Sharks! In the ocean? I know! I almost died. Remember?! Let’s do it again!”
Worth It
So this is what drowning feels like.
I knew this could happen, knew the moment your father told me that I needed to make my fortune before I even thought of asking for your hand. I’ve known since you gave me your mother’s ring. It didn’t fit my finger, so I bought a chain and hung it around my neck. It rested right over my heart, or the place where my heart would have been if I hadn’t given it, completely and wholly, to you. I’ve known since I saw the tears on your cheeks as you stood on the shore, waving as the horizon swallowed you. I didn’t think it would feel like this, though.
I didn’t think it would feel like falling in love.
I can see the shore, but it’s too far. My arms are weights, dragging me down. I’ve left the lifeboats far behind. Somewhere below us is the ship, somewhere ahead the land of promise and plenty. Another swell lifts me towards the sky. I hold my breath as I slide down the side of one wave and down under the next. I don’t bother to close my eyes. They already sting. Above me the sun glimmers through the water. I rise towards it, but it takes longer. Longer each time.
I remember the first time I saw you walk through the doors of the church. I saw something about you, something different, something special. So did everyone else. I never was the one to push myself into the center of attention, so I held back and watched young man after young man try to win your heart. All the time, I could feel something building and building inside of me. When I saw you, the way you treated everyone with kindness, the way you reached out to the people on the outskirts of your circle, the way your gentle smile never quite disappeared, my heart felt like it might burst in my chest.
My lungs burn for air and I gasp as my head clears the surface. One more good wave, maybe two, and that will be it. How calm the seas looked from the deck of the steamer, far above the waves, safe on a sturdy deck. When the seas rocked with the boiler explosion that took her down, I took my life jacket with me. I met a young woman holding a young boy by the hand in the corridor. She sobbed hysterically, he looked at me with silent, frightened eyes. Neither had a life jacket. I thought of you and gave her mine. I didn’t leave her side until they were in a lifeboat, disappearing past the tilting rail.
The next wave rises. I kick a few times, trying to angle myself into it, but the pull of the wave is magnetic.
Did you know, my dear, that your eyes are the color of the ocean?
I remember how it felt to walk you home for the first time, the way the lights through your windows called to me as I tipped my hat and said good night. They called me back the next Sunday night, and the Sunday after, and sometimes a weeknight as well. The pull was as irresistible as the pull of the waves and the sea, promising peace and rest.
The water takes me again.
I was scared to ask your father for your hand. I’m not scared now. I’m sorry. I had such grand plans for us. We were so close, so close to being together. Don’t grieve too long. This was my choice. If I had to go back, I wouldn’t change a thing.
The sun glimmers above the water, but it’s not getting closer now.
I’ll be at peace, darling, and I’ll see you again someday. If they find my body, they’ll find your ring hanging around my neck, right over where my heart would be if I hadn’t given it, completely and wholly, to you. I want my last thought to be of your smile.
I surrender to the water.
So this is what drowning feels like.
You, my love, are worth it.
Tressa Zimmerman
Team A
Beautiful! Great job!
Team 1
So this is what drowning feels like.
Falling, but slowly. An invisible hand squeezing and tightening around my lungs. The light from the surface faintly glimmering and fading, fading, fading. Darkness wrapping around me like cold, comforting hands. All hope trickling away faster than the bubbles escaping my lips.
I grasp weakly at the beams of light flickering, trying to grab hold of them, as though they are a lending hand. But no one is there. I am alone. The light simply teases me. Plays and dances in the same water that fills my lungs.
I can feel the darkness swallowing me, consuming me. Everything feels so cold. Like my limbs are slowly but surely being covered by ice, stiff and unforgiving. I release more air from my mouth, watching the bubbles swirl up to meet the light, disappearing into the false brightness.
Why even try, I think. Why try to reach the teasing, useless light, when the darkness welcomes me with open arms? It is cold and it is so, so dark. But who knows? Maybe there is light on the other side.
Or maybe I am simply a fool, drowning in the dark. My last thoughts more hopeless than my efforts.
Dimly I know I will not die. That here, in this world of night, I will simply keep falling. But out there where things are not quite so easy to understand… I do not know. Will I fall? Will I swim? Or will I simply die, slowly, never quite deciding what to do?
I decide to brave the dark. Maybe there is light behind it. Maybe there isn’t. But instead of dying without knowing, I will die trying to know.
I wake up, and it is only my tears that I drown in.
Love this vignette! Your imagery is very vivid, and I love the final sentence that almost fits the pieces together but still leaves us with so many questions. I do wonder what you’re trying to say through it–it feels like there’s something there that isn’t quite surfacing, no pun intended.
thank you! to feel both vague and yet sharply vivid is exactly what I was going for–that deep feeling of knowing something is there that isn’t obvious at all, that makes you feel as if you’re going mad and imagining things. glad you enjoyed it!
So this is what drowning feels like.
The delicate membranes of my gills strain to pull in water, but all they meet is air—hot and dry in the summer sun. My vision is always poor above water, but it’s blurring worse than usual right now. Hopelessly, I open my mouth and draw in air, but it does nothing to dull the pain in my head and chest. Just because I look human from the waist up doesn’t mean my lungs can absorb oxygen. . . .
“What’s wrong with it?”
A man’s boot collides with my bare side, and I gasp, rolling away and curling into a tighter ball.
“Careful, now,” another voice cautions. “’is Majesty won’t want ’er damaged.”
My head is pounding, darkness closing in on my vision as my gills flutter helplessly in the dry air. I can smell the water, mere yards from where I lie. If only I could reach it. . . .
“Hey, now.” A third voice. Another foot, gentler than the first, pushes me back to the pier, resting lightly on my stomach. “None o’ that.”
“It’s not like it can understand you.” The first voice, scornful. “Mermaids don’t have souls.”
A faint breeze brings with it a dash of sea spray, and my gills suck in the moisture, clearing my head enough for me to smile. Funny. I was always told men were the ones without souls. . . .
“Let’s get ’er up the castle.” The second man’s voice, urgent. “She don’t look too good.”
The first man snorts. “It’s a monster, Jenkins. What do you expect.”
“Gentlemen.” This fourth voice is smoother than the others, quiet and confident. “What have you found?”
Silence as the men scramble back. I turn my head to face the sky, wincing at the blinding light that only exacerbates the band of pain around my forehead.
A man’s face appears above me, blocking out most of the sunlight above. He’s young, and his brilliant blue eyes seem kind despite his frown.
“She can’t breathe.” His tone is quiet but dangerous as he turns to the men. “Put her back.”
There’s a pause before the third man says, “Your Highness, your father—”
“Blast my father.” The young man turns back to me, his frown deepening. Then, with a sigh, he steps around me towards the edge of the pier.
I exhale and allow my face to fall back against the filthy cobblestones. Already black is spotting my vision, and the roaring in my ears is louder than the distant voices of the men.
What a fool I was to ever come here. But then, I never expected a mermaid could drown. . . .
Calloused hands lift my lank hair from my gasping gills, their touch surprisingly gentle. The pain of suffocation is worse without my damp hair, and I fight back a sob of despair.
At least it will all be over soon.
But something cool and blessedly wet settles over my neck. Water, trapped in fabric—water all the same. I pull it in through my gills, feeling the strength return to my mind and body with even that one breath, drawing in water again and again. . . .
“You didn’t even think to cover her?” The young man’s voice again, indignant.
The first man mumbles something about monsters, but the young man turns back towards me. His expression is disgusted, but it relaxes as he studies me, finally crouching beside me and unclasping his cloak.
“Here you go,” he says softly, draping it over my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His sea-blue eyes widen, and he glances at the men. They’re watching from a cautious distance, and he lowers his voice as he asks, “You can talk?”
I’m alert enough to feel disgruntled, and I eye him with annoyance as I prop myself into a sitting position, clutching the cloak around my shoulders. “Of course I can talk.”
He glances back towards the men, then back at me, a faint smile curving his lips. “Do you have a name?”
For a moment, I don’t answer. Men are the enemies of mermaids—they always have been. But this one is . . . different. Kind, even. My eyes skim over his bare chest, and I realize that the cloth still dripping on my neck is his shirt. “Isla.”
“Isla,” he repeats. “I’m Martin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Your Highness.” The third man approaches us again, expression dogged. “We’re taking the mermaid to your father. At once.”
For a moment, Martin looks about to argue. Instead, his jaw sets obstinately. “I suppose you must. But you can hardly carry her all the way—go fetch a cart or something. I’ll wait with her.”
The man snorts. “And slip her back into the water while we’re gone?”
Martin eyes me thoughtfully, and I can tell he’s considering just that. Hope leaps in my heart, but it fades just as quickly. The sea isn’t safe for me anymore. Nowhere is.
“No,” he says finally, “I won’t. I give you my word.”
The man looks doubtful, but he nods and turns away. Martin is still watching me, his eyes steady and as blue as the water my body so desperately craves.
“Isla,” he whispers, “I can’t promise what my father will do with you. When it comes to exotic creatures, he can be very . . . inquisitive. But I promise you that I will do everything in my power to protect you. And if I can, I’ll return you to where you belong.”
For a moment, I’m silent, gazing up into his face—so earnest, so anxious. I don’t know how to tell him it’s pointless, that he can’t protect me whatever he does, that even my home isn’t safe for me anymore. But his expression is so eager that I don’t even want to tell him.
Instead, I smile—my first real smile in what feels like days—and whisper the only two words that really need to be said: “Thank you.”
Team 1: Reepicheep
This captivated me so much, Grace! I seriously love your unique take on the prompt, that was so cool! and I feel like you executed what you were aiming for beautifully 🙂
Thank you so much, Madi! I’ve played with the idea of a mermaid story for years (I write fantasy) but never got around to it, so it was really fun to finally explore that!
What a wonderful story! I would love to read more about why she couldn’t go home and what happened to her on land. Thank you for sharing!
Thanks, Annette! I’m so glad you enjoyed it. 🙂
I am always taken by mermaids and dragons. Good thing neither one is real or my curiosity might be the end of me. Nice job with your writing as always.
Wait so if we like accidentally post our stories as a comment here, will it count or be ignored?