Welcome to the second week of the Spring Writing 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 second week, so it’s time to do it again! Will your story take place in the past? In space? Underground? Whatever you decide, we can’t wait to see how you use this prompt.
So, without further ado, here’s your next prompt!
Week One Prompt – The Setting Prompt
Write a story that takes place in a
Forbidden Garden
Wait…what’s a setting prompt?
A setting prompt is a prompt that takes place in a specific setting. It doesn’t matter who’s there, what happens, or what’s said. The only thing that matters is that your story must take place in a forbidden garden.
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. 🙂 You’re all doing such a great job!
Happy Writing!
Team 1! Sorry if there are typos or grammar mistakes, I’m posting this a minute before the deadline haha <3
When my brother became king, he sealed all entrances to the palace garden. He put his best guards around the perimeter and ordered anyone who strayed close to the entrance to be arrested.
My brother was only in that garden for minutes on the fateful day he watched my parents die, but his eyes are now hollow, his once chocolate brown hair streaked with gray. He told me, and I honestly can’t recall if he has spoken to me since, that he would die before letting another person set foot in that garden.
I pull my hood tighter around my head as the frigid wind bites my cheeks. I have no desire to be the reason for my brother’s death, but my need for answers is becoming suffocating.
Tonight, the moon hides behind the clouds, helping me stay undetected. I zig-zag between the shrubbery that once lined the path to the garden. The guards around the perimeter have become more lax with the rotations since no one has yet tried to break in.
I hide behind a bush and count sixty seconds between when a guard disappears around the corner and another one comes into view. I try to relax my muscles while I wait for the next thirty-second gap. When no guards are in view, I run towards the garden hedge and push off the ground to jump. In the split second I’m in the air, I realize the hedge is taller than I remember. I ungracefully land somewhere in the middle, grasping wildly for purchase.
I’ve almost managed to make it almost to the top when the next guard rounds the corner. My traitorous body freezes in fear, fingers going slack. The guard doesn’t see me until he’s right below my perch. I watch my presence register on his face, but manage to keep my grip. I swing my legs over to the other side as the guard opens his mouth to sound an alarm.
I hit the ground ungracefully, rolling onto my back. Then I’m up and running. I’m not sure if the guards will try to chase me, but I’m not taking any chances.
As a child, I found gardens tedious and stuffy due to the parties of that sort my parents hosted here. Now, I wished I’d spent more time in the garden as I blindlessly race through it.
After putting a good distance between me and where I climbed over the wall, I pause to catch my breath. The palace garden is essentially a maze, somewhere designed for people to become lost in.
For the first time, the layout seems sinister, not romantic. A chill creeps down my spine as I take in my surroundings. The tall hedges are healthy and pruned, even though my brother had the gardeners relocated after his declaration. The leaves are so green they appear black, and instead of the colorful flowers I remember, glowing silver blossoms adorn the hedges.
What happened here?
The flowers start to slowly grow, their petals reaching toward me. I back away, blinking. And that’s when the music registers.
I’d thought it was the wind in my ears as I ran, but there’s a haunting melody floating through the air. It seems to grow louder after I acknowledge it.
Ignoring the fear in my gut, I start following the sound. I’m here for answers, and this impossible song seems like a good start.
I always try to be brave, but this garden is haunting. Vines strewn the ground, and some are splattered with red. All I can think about is my parents and how they spent their last moments here. Was it quick? Were they scared? I feel nauseous.
The music is now so loud it’s almost deafening. It doesn’t occur to me to think about how I know exactly which path to follow, and how the music seems to be tethered to me, reeling me in.
Suddenly, I come to a clearing. In the center, was something that tugged at a childhood memory. A wishing well.
I approach the well in a daze, ears ringing and eyes stinging from the blindly bright flowers. I came here as a child several times, but only made a wish once.
“Careful,” my parents had said. “The well can only hold so many of your wishes before it takes in return.”
I lean over the edge, a terrible feeling crawling up my throat, causing my earlier nausea to return. The water in the well is splashing about, and there, in the waves, I can make out the resemblances of my parents’ faces.
I reel back, horrified. My legs give way, but the well is pulling me closer again. I fall against its rim, shutting my eyes so I can’t see the water.
In one terrible moment, the melody morphs into a voice.
“Elora. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“The dreamer awakes
The shadow goes by
The tale I have told you
That tale is a lie
But listen to me
Bright maiden, proud youth,
The tale is a lie,
What it tells is the truth.”
~Folktale ending to Stories
The Daughter of the Moon
They said the little garden over the hill, down by the willow grove, was haunted. As a child, I believed them. There was something about it—maybe the way the stream sounded so sad, or how the gnarled old trees quivered and moaned at night—that made you think anything was possible there.
The old wives said Tanith, the goddess of the moon, buried her daughter there.
I never thought much of it.
That little garden, with its moss-grown picket fence and weathered tombstones, wasn’t somewhere anyone went.
It wasn’t somewhere I went either.
Not until that night.
The moon was bright, round like a silver coin tossed into a dark sea. Storm clouds drifted across the sky, parting for her now and again. Light spilled over the thin mist of rain across the sleeping trees, and down the crooked path that led into the willow grove.
It was the night after my baby brother died.
The house had been too quiet without him. Too big. His cradle still by the hearth. His little coat still hung by the door. They had taken his body away in the afternoon, wrapped in white linen. It hadn’t felt real. Not until the sun went down and there was no soft breathing in the cradle. Only my mother sitting in her rocking chair, her silence worse than screaming.
I couldn’t sleep.
So when the moon rose, bright and full, and the world seemed to hold its breath, I slipped out into the night.
They said the garden was where the children who died were never forgotten. That Tanith sang for them because of her baby.
I didn’t know if it was true.
But that night I had to believe it.
I took one of his toys with me—a little wooden lamb, worn ragged from his small hands.
The path to the garden wound down through the sleeping trees, their branches bare and whispering like old bones. The stream murmured among them, low and sorrowful. I crossed it on the stepping stones and kept walking.
The garden gate was nearly swallowed by ivy, the latch creaking when I pushed it open. The scent of moonflowers was thick in the air—almost too sweet, as if the garden breathed heartbreak with every bloom.
The garden itself seemed frozen in time. Tombstones leaned this way and that, some so old their names had faded to nothing. Little lambs carved in stone. Wreaths of weathered flowers, left long ago by hands now turned to dust.
Everywhere, the silver vines of starfire curled and glowed faintly, like tiny stars fallen to earth.
I wandered deeper, the grass cold and wet under my bare feet. I didn’t know what I was looking for. Maybe I thought I would find a place to leave the lamb, a place where he would be safe.
Maybe I thought I would find him.
I didn’t know.
As I wandered, I thought of the story. Not the one the old wives told in the square. No, the older one. The quiet one.
The one that said Tanith had only one child with a mortal man. A daughter made not of fire like the stars, nor stone like the earth, but of silver and silence. A baby born of moonlight and sorrow.
Zara, princess of the stars, but not a star like Tanith’s children sired from the sun.
And because she was not the daughter of the sun, she was the only child Tanith ever loved.
They said the girl never spoke a word—not once in her short life. She simply watched the world with eyes the color of frost and gathered its sadness into herself. All the weeping mothers. All the cold cradles. Every stillborn breath, every vanished name, every grief that had nowhere to go—she held them in her little hands like broken dreams.
In the end, it broke her.
Her body faded like mist before sunrise. No one knew if she died or simply ceased to be. One day she was there beneath the trees, pale as pearl, and the next she was gone. All that remained was a hollow in the earth, and the wild vines that grew from it.
Tanith came down from the sky, they said. She didn’t rage or strike the mountains. She only knelt where her child had been, and from her silence, the moonflowers began to bloom.
They said she built this garden with her own hands. Not a temple. Not a warning. Just a place. A memory. A forbidden garden full of flowers that bloom nowhere else in the world.
Other men and women buried their babies there, because of her. They said she grieved every child for Zara’s sake.
I wandered through the rows, past graves marked with stars, tiny moons, and names etched deep, rubbed smooth by time. The wind carried a whisper through the garden, soft as breath.
And then I saw it.
A white shrine at the garden’s heart, half-wrapped in vines, wreathed in blooms that shimmered in shadow.
And there—standing before it—was a woman.
She was pale as starlight, clothed in drifting veils, her hair spilled silver down her back. She stood motionless, one hand resting on the stone, the other lifted to hush the world. I think she could have still time itself in that moment had she but breathed the word.
The little wooden lamb slipped from my hand and landed in the grass with a muffled sound. I didn’t reach for it. I thought of my brother. His laugh. The way his tiny fingers had wrapped around mine. The way he’d blinked up at me, as if he knew things no baby should.
Tanith lifted her head. For the briefest moment, her eyes found mine.
When I blinked, she was gone.
Only the shrine remained. The moon above. The quiet and a thousand lives cut before they bloomed.
I turned back through the garden, barefoot and hollow.
The wooden lamb stayed where it had fallen.
It belonged there now.
*Scrubs at her face*
Well, that was…. That wrote itself. You all have no idea how hard it was to get to 1000 words. I have the longer version saved that has a couple hundred extra, but there you have it.
Team A.
That did flow quite well as though it did write itself. Some stories always seem forced together, but that one flowed well. great job
This was fantastic! You captured a ton of great emotion 🙂
So beautiful, I see a future in high fantasy for you!
*Grins happily* I have a long long past in it, so that is fitting.
The imagery and descriptions flowed with ease and painted some beautiful pictures. Well done! And great job on cutting down to 1,000! I totally get the difficulty–my Week 1 draft was WAAAAY longer. But it’s fun to chip away down to the core of the story. Lovely job.
this was so good! your descriptions are so rich and beautiful and really transported me to the setting <3
Wow! That was so deep emotionally and with so little dialogue, that’s an amazing feat!
This is so beautiful! I choked up reading it, and I don’t do that easily….
Also, I’m not sure if you saw my comment on your story last week, but you said you were looking for beta readers–I’d definitely be interested in that. I don’t want to post my email publicly, but you can reach out to me at this link if you’re still looking for that, or just to connect. 🙂 authorgracemacpherson.com/contact
I reached out. Let me know if you didn’t get it. 🙂
The Rise Of The Gnomes
by:
Melissa K. Andres
Team #1 Submission
“… and the Midnight Garden Gnome Meeting shall come to order,” Briar shouted over the chatter. “In attendance today we have Forest and Flora Thistlebottom, Reed Wigglefield, Daisy Treetopper, Berry and Bud Undergrove, Iris Grasspatch, Juniper Goodacre, Garland Rockzopple, Lilac Shortstack and, wait, where are Marigold and Petunia Gickleweckle?”
“They are watching the windows, sir.” Forest’s voice was high and squeaky as he stood short and straight.
Briar nodded his head and adjusted his cap. “Thank you so much. Now, as each of you know, our kind have always been underestimated. It is time to show this world our true potential. We must teach the Giants a lesson.”
Daisy raised her hand. “Umm, excuse me, sir? I have heard them referred to as people or humans. They aren’t actually Giants but just seem that way to us because we are little.”
A deep sigh escaped Briar’s lips. That Daisy, she sure liked to flaunt her intelligence. Why could she not just stick to having a big bosom and sweet smile like most female gnomes? “Noted,” he said.
“What is our true potential, sir?” Reed cocked his gray head to the left and stroked his long beard.
“We gnomes each have big potential. Bigger than our stature. We have the potential to be anything, anything we can dream. We have been guarding these Giants, excuse me, the People Gardens for some time now. That is all well and good, but we need to do it on our terms, not theirs. It is time we rise up. It is time for change.” Briar held his fist in the air.
The others stood, stone-faced.
Flora picked at the ends of her long blonde braid and cleared her throat. “I do not think I understand. What lessons are we going to teach them, sir and what are our terms?”
Berry leaned against the birdbath and took a draw on his tobacco pipe. “I think I know what you are getting at, brother. These Giant Human People take us for granted. They expect us to stand out here in their precious gardens day and night. Rain, snow, or crazy heat. But when they come out of their dwelling to work in the gardens they never ask how we are doing or if we need anything, do they?”
The others grimaced and shook their heads.
“Come to think of it they are not very careful with us. Last time they planted flowers the one named Humphrey tossed me onto the walkway. I still have a big crack in my bottom.” Iris bent over to show the group. Most of them covered their eyes.
Garland Rockzopple tore his blue eyes from Iris’ backside. “Do you have a plan for this change?” His bushy eyebrows knit together in a questioning dance.
“Of course he does,” little Bud piped up. “He is my big brother. He knows what he is doing. He is in control. I trust him and I think we will all be smart to do what he says.”
Deep creases in Briar’s forehead grew deeper. “I, uh, well, I thought we could try to trick the Giant Human People into leaving their dwelling. They should allow us to live in peace. We do them no harm so why should we allow it done to us?”
Lots were drawn and Juniper and Lilac were chosen to dig deep holes throughout the gardens. Each morning Humphrey and Julia Kranz would gripe and grumble. They suspected gophers. When traps failed to help the couple, the gnomes guffawed and snorted. The plan was working.
Next, it was decided to change positions. One gnome would raise an arm. One would raise a leg, and one turned his head. Marigold and Petunia even changed clothes and places. Julia Kranz became nervous and paranoid.
“I am telling you gang; I am telling you they will leave soon, and we will be free. Free to do whatever we want. Will that not be a glorious day?” Briar was overjoyed.
Two nights later, the master plan failed miserably. The Kranz’s had added to their family. The addition romped through the immaculate gardens, stomping the red roses, breaking the birdbath and gnawing the benches like a baby beaver during its teething stage.
“A wild beast,” Briar screamed. “They have brought in a wild beast to terrorize us.” He looked at his group with large, wide eyes. “They are on to us.”
Forest Thistlebottom spoke in his calm, soothing voice. “Hold on, hold on. The plan has not failed. We are strong, remember? If we give up now, they win. We can handle this, right?”
Quizzical looks and murmurs waved through the gnomes.
“Uh huh.”
“Yeah.”
“You bet.”
Responses were weak.
The beast appeared once more as daylight approached. Humphrey Kranz bellowed at his brand-new St. Bernard pup. “Tank, put that down. Tank, stop that this instant. Quit it.”
Reed Wigglefield lost a leg that day. Juniper Goodacre lost an arm. Garland Rockzopple lost his life. The rest of the gnomes ran as far and as fast as they could go.
I welcome any and all comments, feedback and criticism. Thank you so much!
Haha, clever and hilarious! You really caught my attention with the first sentence 🙂
This was fun to read. I enjoyed all of it and could picture the whole thing happening!
Melissa, this was so entertaining and a delightful read! At first I was overwhelmed by how many gnome names I had to remember but they each had their own unique voice which I really enjoyed. One thing I wish though was for the gnomes to receive justice. They truly work hard for these giant humans! Very clever!
Thank you Nicole, Brenda and Eunice for your kind comments! I really appreciate it! ❤️
So fun and absolutely hysterical, I really enjoyed that! Great job!!
Thank you so much, Lydia! 😊
I will never look at gnomes the same again, and I am now paranoid lol.
Lucas, I didn’t mean to induce a gnome-phobia! Haha! 😂
I was pulled right in. Great story!
This was a unique take. I enjoyed it. I was a little overwhelmed by the number of names right at the beginning, but it was still well-written and put together!
The Scent of Roses
Flowers were forbidden at the Academy. It was a shame, really. I used to love flowers.
Back home, I’d kept a garden. On the first day of class, though, I’d brought a nosegay to the headmaster, and my hands were smacked with a ruler till they bled. Every morning since, at breakfast he’d stand and ask us girls, “Do you love order? Do you love obedience? Do you hate flowers?”
And we’d all stand and answer, “Yes, Headmaster.”
I don’t know if he did it with the boys. I don’t know why he hated flowers so. But every time I thought of my garden back home, my palms tingled with the memory of that beating.
So I stood up and said “Yes” every time.
Until the day a single red rose was left on my desk.
My first impulse was joy, then terror. Was someone trying to get me in trouble? I grabbed the rose and stuck it in my frock, grimacing as the thorns pricked my flesh. I glanced around–no one seemed to have seen.
I sighed in relief. Then I noticed a slip of paper on my desk. I snatched it and scanned the halting penmanship: There’s more where that came from. Meet at 10pm at the Twin Terrors. Sincerely, D.
The Twin Terrors…that must mean the only two trees at school, clipped into rigid rectangles. But who was D? And how was I supposed to get there? Curfew was at 9.
I flipped the page over. It read, P.S. Climb out of window. And bring the rose.
I’d be in so much trouble…but I loved roses. Imagine smelling their sweet fragrance again…
That night at 9:55, I tied together my bedsheets, opened my tiny window, and climbed down the second-story wall. I landed on the well-manicured grass–the grass on which no child was allowed to step–and tossed my sheet-rope back through my window. The Twin Terrors were a straight shot from here. I pulled my cloak tighter and ran.
I was out of breath when I reached the trees. In their cold shadow stood a boy; I couldn’t see his face, but he looked around my age, eleven or twelve.
“I do hope this isn’t a trick,” I said.
He held a finger to his lips. “It isn’t. Follow me.”
He peeked around the rectangular tree, then beckoned me to follow. Like mice we skittered across the smooth lawn until we reached a plain brick wall behind the school, silver-blue in the moonlight.
“Isn’t this where the lawn tools are kept?” I asked.
“Not anymore.” He removed his cap to scratch his head, and white moonlight spilled over his face–a frank, pleasant face, and one that I recognized.
“You’re…David Eliot, right? You got in trouble with Headmaster on the first day, too.”
“Aye. I gave him an apple from my family’s orchard. Apparently, he doesn’t like apples.” David put on his cap and held out a hand. “You got the rose?”
I pulled it from my frock–a bit wilted, but with the fragrance of heaven. David grinned, tossed it over the wall, and found a foothold in the uneven bricks. Before I could question him, he’d scaled the wall and was calling my name from the other side.
It took my significantly longer to climb the wall, but once I reached the other side, all my questions died away.
I was standing in a garden beneath a wash of icy moonlight. There were tangles of rosebushes, ramrods of lavender, laughters of daisies, sprays of chrysanthemums. The cool night air was laced with the earthy scent of soil and the sugar-sweetness of honeysuckle.
“It’s better in the daylight,” said David. “The daisies are open then, and there are bees and butterflies.” He gestured at the flowers. “Do you like it?”
I let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Do I like it? I can’t believe–how did you–how?”
He shrugged. “I like flowers. And getting my hands dirty. I struck a bargain with one of the landscapers.” He glanced at me, wary. “You can’t tell anyone. You have to swear not to tell anyone.”
“Oh, heavens, I wouldn’t dream of it.” I ran my hand along the honeysuckle vines. “Why did you want to show me?”
David hesitated. “Because I heard about what Headmaster did to you. And what happens in the girls’ breakfast hall.”
“What?”
“You love flowers, don’t you?”
I inhaled the perfume of blossom-scents and smiled. “Of course I do.”
David plucked a rose from the bush. “Then why do you pretend you don’t?”
My smile vanished. “What do you mean?”
“I mean at breakfast-time, and all the other times you let Headmaster best you. You say you hate flowers. Why?” He started removing the thorns from the rose. “Because you’re afraid of another beating?”
My face flushed as red as the rose in his hand. “That beating hurt.”
“I know. But fear is getting in the way of love,” said David. “Hasn’t it made you miserable?”
I was silent. Frogs were singing somewhere; I wished they’d shut up.
David tore off the last thorn, leaned forward, and threaded the rose through the hair above my ear. Then he turned around and scrambled up the wall.
“Well, what would you have me do?” I cried.
“Tell the truth,” he said. “And don’t be ashamed of what you love.”
He dropped down the other side, leaving me alone with the flowers and the moon.
Next morning, I came to breakfast with the rose in my hair. The hall buzzed with gasps and whispers. I kept my head high. Finally Headmaster came in and asked us if we loved order and obedience, and if we hated flowers. All the girls–except me–stood and said “Yes, Headmaster.”
They sat again. Headmaster stared at me. “Miss Clifton, you did not stand. Do you hate flowers, Miss Clifton?”
I rose. “No, Headmaster.”
Team 1 – Go Reepicheep!
I really loved this! it was beautifully written!
What a powerful line: “I know. But fear is getting in the way of love,” said David. “Hasn’t it made you miserable?” Great story!
The hook with leaving the mysterious rose on the desk was intriguing and I had to read on, the rest did not disappoint. Great job!
Glad Ms Clifton found courage to be honest and to show integrity because of love! I still have so many questions about David and the forbidden garden past the wall though these questions were overridden by my enjoyment of Ms Clifton’s courage. Lovely story!
Interesting read! I was curious how she got back into her room (since she threw the sheets back inside), but otherwise, this was a very sweet read. 🙂
“Operation Tomato”
By: Hannah Stiff, Team A
Kenny had never stolen anything in his eight years of existence. Until now. As he wriggled forward like a freckle faced inch worm over slick morning grass, his thoughts ranged from earthly consequences to eternal condemnation.
Thou Shalt Not Steal, his mind intoned like a church bell. Kenny paused, bringing his hand up to flick a confused ladybug off his lip. He had checked, but the commandment allowed no leniency for special cases like his own. But last Sunday Reverend Gray had read a text stating all men were worse than an “infidel” who didn’t provide for their own.
Kenny didn’t know what an infidel was, but being a thief sounded a lot less wicked.
He heard a muffled rip underneath him as he slithered over a tree root. “Bummer!” he groaned. Another hole on his long suffering corduroys. And another worry line on his mom’s face.
He had managed to squirm twenty feet from the hole in the fence without detection. Only a few feet more and Kenny would be in enemy territory.
It made him feel closer to his dad when he used words like “enemy territory”. Maybe they were both crawling on forbidden soil right now, waiting to mount the sneak attack and acquire necessary provisions.
Kenny felt for the burlap sack he had tied to his trousers like a saddlebag. Miss Laramie’s Plymouth Valiant had gone chugging out of her driveway ten minutes ago. If he were lucky, she’d be gone for a good half hour.
It was time. He gulped and slid into the garden. His eyes widened as chubby tomatoes dangled over his head like gaudy Christmas tree ornaments. The richness! Kenny slowly reached a hand up. The shiny vegetable popped into his hand, warm and smooth.
Shhhooooo! The blast of water hit hard, like an air strike. Kenny grabbed for his backside and let out a scream of surprise and pain. He scrambled around to face his aggressor and promptly received the same treatment to his face. It was cold, straight from the tap cold, and Kenny was soaked in seconds.
“Please!” he spluttered, and suddenly the barrage cut. Gasping, he caught sight of his attacker.
Miss Laramie. With her iron gray hair melded into a chignon, and glasses that ended in deadly tips, Kenny no longer questioned his right to brand her the enemy. She held the garden hose in one hand, its nozzle slowly dripping from its assault. Miss Laramie’s gaze bore down on him, and Kenny knew Judgement Day had arrived.
“Can’t read, or don’t want to?” She questioned, pointing with her free hand to a white placard staked to the ground.
Keep Out! the sign barked in red lettering. Kenny had read it. And immediately ignored it.
Miss Laramie took a step closer and Kenny quickly shuffled back. “I spend hour after countless hour, slaving over my garden beds, and then bratty hoodlums think they can come in here and trash it, for a laugh!”
Kenny’s face went as red as the tomato that now lay pulverized in his fist. “Miss Laramie, I wasn’t gonna hurt your-”
“Well, and what do you call that?” She pointed to his crushed plunder.
“I wasn’t gonna hurt your garden,” he began again quickly, “I was gonna steal some vegetables!” His cheeks were on fire now.
Miss Laramie’s eyebrow hitched up. “Well, honesty seems to be your strong suit,” she muttered dryly.
“Yes ma’am, Mom and Dad taught me to always tell the truth,” Kenny slowly replied.
“But stealing is acceptable, hmmm? They think it’s convenient perhaps?”
Something inside Kenny felt kicked in the shins. “No ma’am, they taught me never to steal, but I broke the rule today cause I’ve got to provide for my own.”
Miss Laramie snorted. “Don’t quote Scripture to me young man, I could run circles around you in that department.” Her face went grim. “Your father should be providing for his own, but from what I’ve gathered he’s off banging his gun at the Viet Cong, for what reason I don’t know.”
Kenny stood up, trembling with rage and cold. “He didn’t want to!” he shouted at her. “Dad was gonna leave for Canada with Uncle Ricky, but he was too late. The draft got him, and they made him go!” Kenny was glad his cheeks were soaked. The tears didn’t show that way. “Dad never wanted to fight, he says it’s not our fight to butt into, but he had to go!”
His whole body was shaking now, and he sank to the ground in a tired heap. “He had to go,” he repeated dully, watching an ant make off with a slippery tomato seed.
Something thick and heavy landed on him. With a start, Kenny saw Miss Laramie kneel down beside him and arrange her cardigan on his shoulders. Her eyes were still angry, but not at him.
“It’s not your father’s fault, child. I shouldn’t have spoken so. Our country will have a lot of explaining to do when this is all over, and I wouldn’t want to be in our dear president’s shoes for anything.”
Kenny sniffled and swiped at his nose. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have sassed you.”
“Nonsense,” she snapped. “Any boy who wouldn’t defend his daddy should be ashamed of himself.” Miss Laramie glanced at Kenny, and jabbed a finger at a tiny plant. “Pull that out, it’ll be a four foot weed in a week if we don’t take care of it now.”
Kenny complied as she rose to her feet. “And finish weeding this bed and the next one while I gather these tomatoes for your mother.” she ordered.
He glanced up, surprise and wonder framing his grubby face like a halo.
“ ‘Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labor’,” Miss Laramie quoted. She reached for Kenny’s sack. “That’s Ephesians 4:28 for future reference.”
A well done story with Scripture properly woven in. It certainly takes skill to weave Scripture into a story with out seeming to mess up the flow, but you did it. And I loved the ending.
Thanks Lynae! You’re so right, it’s a struggle to incorporate Scriptural elements without sounding preachy or forced. I’m glad you thought it flowed well, and the ending was memorable for you. (:
This was so sweet! I highly enjoyed it 🙂
Thanks Alli!
Aww, Hannah, that was such a wonderful, heart-touching story about two opposing characters that came together because of a more serious societal issue. It’s basically an enemies-to-friends story that was so endearing and well-needed during times of war. Excellent read!
Thanks Eunice! War themes are a new one for me to broach in a story, so I’m glad it worked out. (:
Aw, I loved that! Super great idea, Hannah! Loved how you added all of those scripture elements, and as another commenter said, still kept it flowing nicely. Can’t wait to see what you do next week! 😆
Thanks Lydia! (:
Loved this story!
Thanks Nicole!
An Intro to My Corner of the Multiverse
Lucas Helm, Team A
Have you ever wondered if there was anything else out there? Not just out in the depths of space, but somewhere beyond time and what we know as reality? A place where the rules are different, nature is changed, people live differently, and history grows at a different pace?
It sounds fantastical in nature, as it should; however, to some it isn’t as crazy as it sounds. You see, Bradford had often felt as if he was missing something. He was always trying to be there in the moment, but even so, a part of him was missing somehow. He knew who he was as a person, he was strong in his faith, and he trusted that God would reveal all to him in time, but up until that fateful day, he had no idea what that missing piece was.
He was taking a walk down the street when he noticed something he hadn’t seen there before. He had been down these neighborhood roads hundreds if not thousands of times, but this time he noticed something different. It was a singular tree on a hill behind a fence.
“Weird,” he thought to himself. Not knowing what he was doing, he walked towards that gate. Strangely enough, it opened all on its own, as if inviting him to come in. He felt that, against all logical reasoning, he was supposed to go through that doorway, and to this day he couldn’t tell you why besides the work of the Holy Spirit.
As soon as he stepped through, he was on the hilltop, the cherry blossom tree beside him in full bloom. Now he was even more confused, the garden in which he stood in was covered in snow, but flowers of all varieties of colors bloomed through the layer of fresh powder. Trees in the distance (the neighborhood road now nowhere to be seen) echoed the beautiful fall colors as the warm breeze of a summertime beach ruffled Bradford’s hair.
“You’re obviously new around here!” A cheerful voice behind him said.
Bradford spun around to look at who spoke. It was a light brown haired boy about his age, face covered with freckles. He was adorned in the garb of royalty, as was the tall girl beside him. She had a sharp, yet gentle face with hair as black as a raven.
She elbowed the boy in the side and joked, “Do you really think that’s the best way to greet a new arrival? He’s already scared enough as is!”
“I’m sorry,” Bradford stepped back, “But who are you people and how do I get back home?”
The boy laughed, “You sound just like a friend of ours, but where are my manners? I am Jeremiah, and this is Lisa. We are… Guardians of this fair garden and the surrounding lands. As for how to get back home, you are there. Welcome to the space between.”
More confused than ever, Bradford shook his head, “The space between? What is that?”
“Well, a place for people like you, like us,” Lisa laughed, “We call ourselves Universals. We are people God has called to venture in places outside of our original reality. Think of it like a solar system with different planets all in orbit, but never colliding. That space between the planets (or universes in this case) is where you stand now. All Universals find themselves here eventually, and while it is possible to travel between universes without coming here, it is far easier to access those places from this space.”
“Calm down Lisa, we don’t want to overwhelm him,” Jeremiah put his hand up. He looked Bradford in the eyes, “I know this is a lot to take in, but you’ve felt a missing piece haven’t you? This is it. This is the deeper mission in which you were called to.”
“Then why am I here and not in that alternate whatcha-call?” Bradford demanded.
“To prepare you. To be honest, Lisa and I weren’t exactly prepared when we were called into this business, but God has provided and we are secure in him.”
“If only you could’ve met Matthew, or Karalyn, or L-” Lisa stopped herself, “Wait, these names mean nothing to you do they?”
“Not really,” Bradford scratched the back of his head, “So can anyone reach this place? This garden?”
“No, if they could, people from all over would be flocking here and this space would be corrupted as it once was all that time ago,” Lisa scoffed, “It isn’t so much forbidden as it is protected. That is something you must remember, that at all costs this place must stay safe and secret.”
“I think I kinda understand,” Bradford looked at the snow covered ground.
“That’s okay,” Jeremiah put his hand on Bradford’s shoulder, “Come on, there’s a lot for me to show you. If you trust me that is.”
Bradford thought about all that had transpired. This was an incredible thing to take in, and it all felt like a dream, but he knew in his heart that it wasn’t. Somehow, he felt that God had placed him here for a purpose and a reason, and now, he was determined to find out why.
“Yeah, I trust you.”
“Great! Follow me!”
Wow! Great job, oh my gosh! You totally pulled me into the story, it was so interesting, if it was a full book I would read the whole thing! Amazing work!
I agree. This story needs to be longer. Possibly a book in the makings? It is very interesting.
This was a very interesting read. Nowadays, multiverses have become such a trend that people forget it has been a topic ever since quantum physics and a theory of time was introduced. This is definitely a story I want to hear about more, and it certainly sounds like the start of an adventure for Bradford. Looking forward to a book, like the rest of the commenters have brought up!
Beautiful voice
Good job! I really liked this story!
Intriguing! I want to know more!
Team Herbert!!!!!!!!! (Team A)
Ava was a very normal girl, if she said so herself, or if you asked anyone she knew.
So normal, in fact, that all she wanted was to have something more interesting happen to her than babysitting her brother, playing Monopoly, high school, eating pizza, doing laundry, hanging out with her crush, just being with Josh and Edward constantly, and sleeping.
It was getting boring.
Edward, her little brother, was not necessarily annoying—most of the time—just loud.
Always making some kind of noise, even when he slept—he was a sleep talker.
Josh was her crush, and she liked him, sure—but they always did the same things when they hung out.
She so wanted something new.
One night, something strange occurred to Ava as she played Monopoly with Josh and Edward as the rain poured in light sprinkles outside the farmhouse.
“Josh,” she said suddenly. Edward was half asleep on the old leather couch, the coffee table was a mess of Monopoly money (she could barely tell who’s turn it was anymore.)
“What’s up, Ava?” He asked, leaning forward. His mess of brown hair was disheveled over his pale face, smiling at her cutely.
“What’s behind the old barn?”
“A cabbage patch,” he laughed, waving it away, “nothing special. Why?”
“Sandwiches,” mumbled Edward from the couch, stuck in some weird dream of sandwiches, actually drooling. They ignored him and tried not to laugh.
“I always wondered,” Ava said slowly. He seemed uninterested.
“I’m going to check it out,” Ava said, standing fast, determined to do something this weekend other than play Monopoly, eat pizza, and listen to her little brother snore and sleep talk.
“Be careful,” Josh said, searching for an umbrella. He threw it to me, and she headed out the creaky door. She stood on the pavement, sliding on her tennis shoes, which would probably get ruined. Oh well, she thought, nothing the washer can’t fix!
Her green dress swayed in the breeze, dark hair falling around her face and twirling with every gust.
She walked through the wet grass, the rain letting up ever so slightly in the darkness, the stars just barely visible.
Ava twirled in the mud, kicking some up and splattering her dress.
She liked to think of herself as the master of the laundry—the one peculiar thing about her.
There was nothing she couldn’t clean.
She walked behind the old barn, and what she saw?
A large black gate, intricately designed and behind it, a beautiful garden.
The rain was letting up, almost gone completely, so Ava could see the greens inside, covered in water that was dripping off the leaves in an almost mesmerizing way. Flowers covered the ground, purples and pinks, beautiful.
The thing that really caught her eye, however, was the fairy.
There she sat on the stump in front of the gate, human sized, arms crossed with the grumpiest and most resentful expression possible, wearing a pink and green frilly little dress.
“Who are you?” Ava asked, staring at the golden wings that were on the fairy girl’s back.
“Who are you?!” The fairy demanded in a snotty voice.
“I’m Ava,” she said slowly, staring at the fairy.
She was no Tinkerbell, that was for sure.
Then, perhaps she was, she had a similar attitude, Ava supposed, but the wrong hair—thin, curly brown hair that fell around her head like a slightly frizzy crown.
The fairy scrunched her nose. “How interesting. I’m honestly surprised you can see me at all. FarmBoy can’t.”
“FarmBoy?” Ava repeated, stifling a laugh. “You mean Josh?”
“I don’t pay attention to names, ConfusedGirl. I make up nicknames based on personalities.”
“Oh. What’s your name, then?”
“I have forgotten, but I believe it may have been Rita. Or perhaps Janet,” the fairy sniffed, almost sounding insulted that Ava had asked at all.
“Oh. Why can’t Josh see the garden?”
“Because you’re a girl. Only girls can see it, clearly. FarmBoy’s mom made this place, and I was her cousin. I enchanted it, filling it with portals and magic, obviously. And then she died. And now I’m stuck guarding this garden forever, all by myself. She used to grow the most delicious mushrooms for pizza,” the fairy said dreamily.
“I…what?! Josh’s mom’s cousin is…a fairy? How did that happen?!” Ava gasped.
“Don’t ask me. I’m a highbred, actually… Should be a butterfly.”
“Do I want to know?” Ava asked.
“Gosh, you really are a ConfusedGirl. It’s like this—a butterfly licked FarmBoy’s mom’s mom’s brother on the pinky, and then instead of a caterpillar, the butterfly had me. I used to be a lot smaller.”
“That’s…weird,” Ava sighed, rubbing her temple.
She felt like Alice in Wonderland.
“Agreed. Magical butterflies are weird, though. So are fairies. And humans. All FarmBoy does is eat pizza and play Monopoly with you,” the fairy smirked.
“No, I rather like my life now,” Ava muttered, turning on her heel and walking back to the house.
“Suit yourself, ConfusedGirl,” the fairy giggled.
Ava took off at a run, slamming the door shut.
“What happened?!” Josh yelped, looking at her mud stained dress and wide eyed expression.
“Fairies and gardens and butterflies—you don’t want to know,” she said breathlessly.
She shoved it to the back of her mind for years, but she was now perfectly content with her normal weekends.
She did try to suggest that they went and tried new things more, however.
But they still did those traditional weekends sometimes, just for fun.
One night, a few years later, Josh and Ava took a walk behind the barn.
There was a cabbage patch there, as Josh had promised, but…they both saw a glimmer of light—the outline of a grumpy looking fairy with a little pink and green dress.
“Weird,” Josh muttered.
“Everything’s weird if you think about it, Josh.”
She smiled and leaned against him, Edward trailing behind them making space-ship sounds.
“I love this,” Josh muttered softly.
“I love everything we have. Even the weird and even the normal parts,” Ava replied.
I know it’s a weird one, just thought it was fun! I am super open to constructive criticism and reviews, thanks so much for reading!
This was so cute! I liked the fairy breaking stereotype and just being sassy and witty. I also really resonated with that longing for something new and daring to be adventurous even in the small way that ConfusedGirl stepped out and looked at the cabbage patch. I’m glad she learned quickly to appreciate the “normalcy” that she has with her loved ones.
Aw, thanks so much Eunice! Glad you enjoyed, thanks for reading it!
Great job! Great writing! I really like what you did with the prompt. 😊
Thanks Melissa! Glad you liked it!
It is amazing how even in a short story, you can see the long standing relationships between these characters. Great job!
REST by AJ Denlinger (Team A)
This prompt was a lot harder for me but I’m pretty happy for how this turned out <33
The crooked wheel of the shopping cart ground against the floor as I shoved it through the grocery store’s check out lane.
“Cassie help me out.” My teenage daughter’s nails clicked against her phones screen and I glanced back at where she stood, headphones plugged into her ears.
I sighed and grabbed the items in the cart, dumping them onto the conveyer belt while the cashier swiped the items lazily through the scanner and placed them in bags.
“Are you a member of our rewards program?” She asked as I fumble for my purse. “What? Oh… um no.”
I shove my credit card into the scanner.
The computer beeped and the cashier eyed me, “Your card’s been declined.”
My blood pressure increased and my hands shook, “Let’s try again.”
It declined.
I tried again.
Declined.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why it’s doing this.” I grabbed my phone and tried to load my account but my phone had no service.
“Do you have another card?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I dug through the contents of my purse, even though I knew there wasn’t anything in there.
Looking behind me and Cassie, who was looking at her phone; oblivious, I found that a line had form, the other customers staring in judgement.
They didn’t know how much I needed this. They couldn’t see my empty fridge at home.
“Ma’m can you find another payment method or step aside please?”
Heart pounding I nodded and shoved the ornery cart past the bagging area and parked it out of the way.
Cassie glanced around, confused. My hands trembled and I tried loading the account on my phone again.
“Excuse me, ma’m?” A woman approached, short raspberry red hair cropped at the chin and loop earrings dancing below her ears “We’ve taken care of everything. All you have to do is scan this QR code and then you’ll be good to go.” A smile alighted her face and she proffered the receipt.
I blinked at her as I took the receipt and looked at it. Every single item had been paid for.
“What? How-.” But as I looked up I realized the strange woman was gone.
“Where did she go?” I turned to my daughter who she shrugged, her gaze once again fixed on her mobile device.
In a daze I shoved the rattling cart out through the parking lot and loaded the car.
Once settled in the driver’s seat I pulled out the receipt and my phone. “I sure hope this isn’t a scam.” I told Cassie.
“Probably is.” She responded without sympathy.
My camera opened and latched onto the QR code.
My fingers started tingling and my vision shimmered. When I looked at Cassie, her face and hair were bathed in golden light.“Cassie?” I asked, “Do you see that?”
She didn’t even look up as the golden light filled the car and my vision until I couldn’t see the car or my daughter anymore.
“What the grasshoppers-” my body was lifted into the air by a cool breeze that brushed over my skin and through my hair. Hints of an aroma filled the air and despite my initial panic it soothed my heart and mind until I relaxed.
Then my feet touched the ground.
Touched grass.
The aroma spun around me on the breeze and gentle warmth touched my skin. In the blink of an eye my surrounds came into focus. Trees, leaves against a periwinkle sky.My jeans and t-shirt were gone, replaced by a soft white dress that brushed my knees. My skin no longer felt sweaty and sticky but instead clean as thought I’d stepped from the shower moments before.
Beneath my bare feet the soft green grass formed a path through the trees. The weight slipped from my shoulders as I started walking, breathing air sweet with the aromas of vanilla, lilac, and rose.
Down the path I found a stone wall with an arched gateway. A sign was carved into the arch with these words, “Enter weary travelers, to the Garden of Forbidden Rest.”
The gate creaked as I pushed it open and stepped inside.
Bird calls echoed through the treetops and I caught a flash of blue wings among the green. Their melodies strike something deep within. It filled my heart until it overflowed and I stretched out my arms, spinning in a circle. Laughter bubbled up within me and escaped from my lips.
My ears caught something echoing the sound and I walked toward it, the flowers and plants brushing my shoulders and no thorns snagged my dress.
Weariness fled my bones and with each step my feet felt lighter. I reached the sound and found a creek. The water giggled as it danced and swirled around rocks of colored stone.
Sinking to my knees I ran my hands over the thick grass.
A sigh released through my entire body; all the cares rolling off my shoulders and tumbling away with the stream.
Lying down on my back between the roots of a gentle willow, a heavy feeling of rest washed through me and sleep picked me up in her tender arms.
I awoke to the caress of the wind against my face and sun kissing my face.
I sat up and brushed a hand through my hair, finding soft curls instead of the tangled braid. Lifting my face to the sky I spoke to the magic of the garden, “Thank you for this gift.”
The wind whispered beside my ear. “Are you rested?”
I chuckled, “Yes, thank you. It was… everything.”
The wind lifted me into the air, the golden light shimmered, and I was once more in my car. One glance at Cassie told me that my absence had gone unnoticed. My jeans and t-shirt had been returned, but the feeling of rest remained in my soul and a smile played on my lips as I started the engine and whispered again, “Thank you.”
A Curious Plot
By Philothea Hope (Team A, Herbert the Frog)
…
When Princess Mara was rather ingloriously moved from the estate her parents had bequeathed her to a castle much closer to her older brother the King, so that he could “enjoy her society more often”, she was told in no uncertain terms that the eastern garden was off-limits.
Her brother was affectionate and always had been, but his letters of late had been heavily slanted towards the idea of marriage for Mara. His constant invitations to socials and balls were obvious enough, but his second-to-latest letter finally spelled it out.
“My dearest Mara, I am sorry for the brief letter—I haven’t much time at the moment. I have enclosed the invitation to the next ball at court. Mara, it is time for you to wed. I have a number of suitors in mind. Please attend.”
The messenger had been instructed to wait for her response, and so Mara had smiled very politely at him and sat at her desk.
“Dearest King Brother, no thank you.”
Despite the rather curt and very clear reply, her brother was not in the least put out. In fact, his latest letter had been just as clear as hers.
“Dearest Princess Sister, yes.”
And with the note came a flurry of servants, who immediately began packing her things and loading them into a large carriage, which she was told—rather shortly—would take her to her new, temporary housing.
Upon arriving, she was given a very brief tour and was warned, with absolute authority, that she was strictly forbidden to enter the eastern garden.
It was a large, walled garden, only accessible from the outside through one very sturdy wooden gate, which was locked tight—she had checked. The inside door, rather inconspicuous, was one she might have overlooked, were it not for all the attention it had been given on her tour.
The garden itself was lovely, overflowing with flowers and arches, with a bubbling fountain in the middle. It was not wild and unkempt, nor dead and dreary as Mara had imagined before stepping foot in it.
She had, in fact, stepped foot in the forbidden eastern garden. She had done so just as soon as she was left alone long enough to find the key and open the door.
If anyone, at any time, wanted Mara to stay out of something, or somewhere, the most crucial thing they could do was not tell her about it. She had tried, as a young girl, to get over her curious impulses, but in time had learned to accept that part of her personality—and its consequences.
Mara tapped her foot a little impatiently and put her hands squarely on her hips as she took in the sights and smells of the idyllic garden. She sighed, disappointed, and began walking the pathway toward the fountain.
“I wonder if there are poisonous plants,” she mused, still trying to figure out what exactly made this particular garden off-limits.
“Only a few—nothing too dangerous,” a man’s voice answered her, and she stumbled awkwardly when she tried to find the source. A pair of strong arms caught her from behind. She found herself looking up a young man that was close to her age, very handsome, and definitely more off-limits than the garden, given his work clothes: the gardener, clearly.
She stood up and smoothed down her dress.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I don’t believe you’re supposed to be here,” he answered, not hiding his amusement.
“I don’t believe I asked you,” she said. “Now, are you going to give me a tour or should I find all the poisonous plants on my own by accident?”
He laughed, but held out an arm for her and she took it. He then proceeded to name every plant as they casually walked through the garden she was not supposed to be in.
In the following weeks Mara found her mornings free to do mostly as she pleased. She included daily visits to the eastern garden—or rather, to the gardener—and took note that either no one noticed, or no one cared.
Her evenings were a flurry of socials and dances that she would rather have skipped, but her brother sent his personal carriage every time he wanted her somewhere. He paraded men in front of her at every event, had her fitted for new gowns, and took compliments on her account, encouraging his guests to notice her presence and talking constantly about his “lovely sister come to visit”. She smiled politely and would have been less polite if his eyes didn’t shoot daggers in her direction every time she opened her mouth to speak.
It was exhausting.
Mara would collapse into bed as soon as she was back, but found that the tiring evenings made for restful sleep, and she looked forward to her morning chats with the gardener. His name was Raphael, and he was intelligent and kind and didn’t mind at all when she prattled on.
“What’s he trying to do, do you think? You’re clearly not interested,” Raphael hesitated, “are you?” he asked her one morning, as she recounted her evening to him.
“Of course not,” she said, huffing, “I’ve no fondness for princes. I’d much rather marry…” she paused, “well, a gardener.”
Raphael stood up straight.
“Princess,” he said, guilt all over his face, “I have a confession.” Mara eyed him, smiling wryly.
“Well?” she asked. He swallowed hard.
“I’m a prince,” he said.
“I know.”
“Sent to woo you,” he said.
“I know.”
“He said you’d be curious if there was a forbidden garden.”
“Ah, so shocking,” she said dryly.
“But, how?” Raphael asked, taken aback, “and when did you realize?” Mara grinned.
“The moment I saw you, of course. I know my brother as well as he knows me after all.”
Raphael smiled, but it disappeared quickly.
“Then, I suppose I have little hope of winning you.”
Mara tipped her head sideways and laughed.
“Why, my dear Prince, whoever said that?”
Awwww! This was so sweet! 🙂 Love the twist ending
Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it 😊
Against the Protocol
The station hummed with a low, mechanical rhythm as Aaron floated gently down the corridor, his gloved hand gliding along the rail. Just ahead, through the reinforced observation window, the garden glowed.
Beyond the glass, green exploded in every direction. Ferns fanned wide beneath sunlamps, vines curled up columns, and blossoms opened lazily as android caretakers moved methodically between rows. One knelt to prune a bright orange flower. Another gently sprinkled water over a bed of spinach.
Ruby hovered nearby, her tablet displaying soil chemistry metrics and nutrient readouts. She didn’t look up.
“They always look so at peace in there,” Aaron said.
“It’s synthetic,” Ruby replied, flicking through data. “Programmed motions. Precision timing. They’re not enjoying it.”
“I didn’t say they were,” he murmured. “But don’t you miss it? The smell of grass? The sun on your face? Just walking barefoot on something that doesn’t clang?”
Ruby sighed. “Aaron, we’ve talked about this. It’s sealed for a reason. That garden’s the purest biological environment we’ve got. It’s the foundation for our terraforming models. One spore, one microbe from us—and it could destabilize the whole project.”
He leaned closer to the glass, staring at an android pressing a seed into the dirt. “It’s been eight years,” he said fist banging on the glass. “I barely remember what real dirt smells like.”
Ruby paused, “I know. But we’re not here for comfort. We’re here to preserve humanity’s future. You know the protocol.” Aaron pushed off the rail and drifted beside her.
“I just don’t get it,” he said. “We built a little Eden… and gave it to the robots.” Ruby didn’t respond. “They get to walk in it. Touch it. Live in it. And us? We float in metal tubes, eating paste. Isn’t that backwards?”
She turned toward him, “It’s not about fairness. It’s about survival.” He looked down. “Then what’s the point of surviving if we’re already not living?” Silence stretched between them. Just the hum of the station. The soft buzz of filtered air.
Ruby didn’t answer at first. For a moment, she wasn’t on the station. She was back in New York, walking through the city on a warm summer morning—coffee in one hand, a bagel in the other, the buzz of the street below her apartment. She could almost smell the pavement and hear her friends laughing in Central Park as they shared a greasy slice of pizza under the trees. The memories rushed in, rich and overwhelming.
Then Ruby said quietly, “It is part of the scientific method to test our assumptions.” Aaron’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! A field test.”
Ruby hesitated. Aaron grinned. “C’mon. Let’s just look. Just once.”
He reached toward the sealed hatch marked Botanical Chamber: NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY. A scan. A beep. The inner door slid open, revealing a narrow airlock.
She followed, slowly. Inside the garden, the world changed. Warm, humid air kissed their visors. The scent of chlorophyll, soil, and wildflowers pushed through the filters in bursts. For a moment, neither spoke.
They stepped off the metallic walkway onto soil. Real, living soil. It crunched slightly under their feet. The grass bent beneath their boots, springing back slowly.
Aaron took a breath. “It’s beautiful.” He looked over at Ruby as she starred at the garden and just nodded to his words.
Then, slowly, they began removing their gear. Boots first—stepping out onto the earth barefoot. Helmets unsealed with soft clicks. Gloves pulled free.
Aaron’s bare feet sank into the soil. He let out a breath that trembled as it left him. “I’d forgotten what this feels like,” he said.
“Me too,” Ruby admitted.
They walked a few steps forward, hand in hand. Around them, androids continued their tasks—watering, scanning, pruning—until one paused.
Then another.
And another.
Within seconds, every android in the garden stopped moving. One by one, their heads turned. Aaron froze in his steps and Ruby’s fingers tightened around his.
The closest android stared at them, watering can still tilted mid-air, water dripping into the soil. No words. No alarms.
Just the quiet gaze of twenty machines, looking at the two humans who had stepped—uninvited—into the last garden of Earth.
Team A
Great concept and execution!
I want to know more.
I love this sci-fi take on the prompt. Nice work!
Team 1
Anger is the Hedge
I let out a guttural wail, throwing all my weight into the swing. The head of my grandfather’s rusty old axe nicked the edge of the twiglike trunk before shearing off a few ugly pink petals and nearly pulling me off my feet. I stumbled forward to avoid clipping my back with the follow-through. My foot slid on something slick and I felt the heel of my pantyhose tear.
I looked down, finding the shears I’d discarded when it became clear their neat little clippings would be too tame for my mood. Back when my lacey black skirt wasn’t woven with little twigs. Back before my cheeks weren’t streaming with sweat and mascara. Funny that I appeared more like a mourner now than I had all day.
I grit my teeth, eyes narrowing on the little tree again. Forget trying for a clean swing. I slid my hand up just below the head of the axe and stepped in close, hacking wildly at the stupid, perfectly shaped branches. Each crack, each bend felt like a cruel joke.
I hoped she was roiling in her grave right now knowing that this thing she’d nurtured so ardently hadn’t outlasted me. That the work of her hand meant absolutely nothing. No one had stopped me from coming out here.
Well, Grandmother, that’s what happens when you care more about your pitiful perennials than your family.
I could still picture her kneeling in the corner with her back turned. Don’t come in here, Anna. Don’t touch the flowers, Anna. Go run along and do whatever it is you do, Anna. Always there; always pushing everyone away.
With another crack the tree toppled over, leaving nothing but a dead spoke sticking in the dirt. Now we were one and the same.
I glanced about, ready for my next target. I started at the colorless spectacle; I’d been thorough. Trees slept eternally as leafy logs upon the ground, bushes rolled in the wind like tumbleweeds, and every flattened flower trembled in its dirt-crumbled petals. Nothing left.
I brought the axe up over my head and screamed. The haft slipped through my hands. Iron clattered against the cobblestones. I sank to the empty flowerbed and drew up my knees.
Muffled voices came from the window. I turned just in time to see some of my cousins—all dressed in their best black suits—drop the curtain and turn to join the rest of the family in sharing all their ‘wonderful memories’. Wonder who would be the new talk of the family for the next few years? As if I wasn’t lined up for that already.
Something shifted by the garage. Xenia’s crisp dark slacks and blazer nearly blended her into the shadows. Her heels alternated clacking against the path and squishing in the dirt. I averted my gaze as she sat down beside me.
She nudged me with her shoulder, speaking in that matter-of-fact voice. “Don’t hide.”
My fingers bit into stalks and leaves. “I’m not hiding!”
“You’re grieving.”
I snorted, staring at the sky. Oh, that was rich! “I hated her.”
Xenia reached out, plucking a flower off the ground. Its little petals spit out clods of mulch as she spun the stem between her fingers. “Which is why this is so hard.” Her head snapped in my direction, her straightened ponytail whipping over her shoulder. “Is this really what you want? To sit here and scream at the world and keep hating her?”
I had a sharp reply planned, but now… I bit my lip. “Yes.” The word sounded small.
“Fine.” She cast the flower aside and dusted off her hands. “Don’t let me stop you.” She pushed onto her feet.
I blinked. The rest of the family could ignore me—they did often enough—but Xenia? “You’re just going to leave me here?”
Xenia spun on her heel, her blazer flaring out at the waist. “Well, it’s what she would want in your shoes, and you sound like her.”
I recoiled, jaw dropping open. “I…I do not.”
“Really? Sitting here all alone in your little garden?”
“I was angry!”
“You’ve always been angry with her!” Her hands splayed. “When is it going to stop?”
The lies I’d told myself over the years whirled through my head. When I get out from under her roof. When she apologizes to me. When she realizes she misses me, and I get to turn her away. When she’s dead…
Well, she was dead…and I still hurt.
“I…” I buried my head into my knees. “I don’t know…” But I was so, so tired of this. Tired of my skin pricking at the thought of her. Tired of my family walking on eggshells around me.
A shadow passed as Xenia sat back down. “You can tear down every bush in this place, crumple every leaf, but’s not going to change the hurt.”
The wistfulness of her voice drew me back out. Xenia bore it so well, sometimes I forgot she had to put up with Grandmother too. She just kept it all inside.
“Selfishness was the hedge that cut her off from our family,” Xenia said. “Anger is yours.” Her gaze pierced, compassionate and demanding. “So what are you going to do about it—because you do get to choose.”
I ran my teeth over my lip as I surveyed the damage around me. “Well, I was thinking I might go after her china next.”
Xenia tilted her head, eyes darkening like when we were kids.
I considered the question. If anger was my hedge…then I wouldn’t be like her. So help me, I’d never.
“Fine, let’s go inside.” I grabbed the axe and stood, taking one step spinning back around. “Just don’t let me snap at anyone.”
Xenia glared at me. As if she’d have any control over that.
I threw up my hand. “I get it. Best behavior.”
“Uh huh. Start by giving me the axe.”
Loved the last line!
This story resolved itself nicely – Xenia twisting things back and proclaiming that anger was her hedge was a great moment, very thoughtful writing, and natural. You licked the perfect fulcrum moment for this story to begin and to bring her around emotionally.
Thanks for sharing!
It had been a very, very long time since someone had stepped foot inside the garden.
That is not to say it wasn’t a beautiful garden; it was indeed, with a majestic tree in the center whose branches stretched over the rows of flowerbeds, and the cobblestone path that wove through them. Even the signs of age it bore, with the ivy wrapped lazily around the crumbling stone walls that surrounded the garden, and the overgrown weeds sprouting up between the cobblestones, contributed to its mystical, otherworldly presence.
But there was also a sinister feel to the garden. It was in the stillness of the air, the way it hummed with untapped energy. It was in the wind whispering through the tree’s leaves as its gnarled branches stretched towards the heavens in an unmistakable plea.
There’s a reason no one had entered the garden for such a long time.
But today, that was going to change.
“My mother would kill me for this,” was the first thing uttered in the stillness of the garden, followed by a muffled shriek and a loud crashing noise. Maybe not Josie’s grandest entrance, but it beat the defeated exit she had been about to make after staring at the stone wall for a good ten minutes with no ideas on how to get in. That is, until she decided to try climbing the wall.
And now, she was inside.
Her tousled reddish-brown head, stuck through with several leaves, was the first thing to emerge from the darkness of the corner where her trespassing was taking place. The rest of her body soon followed; she was in possession of no remarkable height or stature and clothed in a mud-smeared gown. Josie half-heartedly brushed at the stains, but she knew it was hopeless– and besides, her attention was fully fixed on her surroundings. She drank it all in, enchanted by its beauty and overcome by its magic. But even as she stood in awe, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something wasn’t right.
“What an odd place,” murmured Josie, running her hand over the ivy on the wall behind her. “But beautiful. I wonder why…” she trailed off. Why was it blocked off? Why was it forbidden? Why had Emeric directed her here, with the vague, “you might just find what you’re looking for”? She had impulsively followed his directions, but now that she was here, she had no idea what to do next.
A rustling sounding in the bushes, interrupting her reverie. A small brown cat with white booties darted across Josie’s path, in the direction of the tree in the center. It paused once it got to the base of the trunk, turning around as if to beckon her over.
Oh wait. It had turned around to lick its bottom.
Nevertheless, Josie hiked up her skirts and followed after the cat. It stilled as she approached, ears flicking back, but didn’t flee. “Do you live here?” Josie cooed, reaching down to let the cat sniff her hand. “Sir,” she added, for its features were decidedly masculine. She had a few cats of her own back at her father’s manor, probably napping on her bed or by the window in the sun. But this cat was scrawnier than they were, thin enough that its ribs were visible and with matted fur.
The cat stood for a moment more, letting Josie gently scratch its back. Then, in one quick move, it hopped onto the lowest branch of the tree. Again, it turned back. And this time, it wasn’t to take a quick bath.
“You want me to follow you?” said Josie. It was probably stupid, but she had come this far, and she didn’t exactly have a better idea.
So up they went, the girl and the cat, the latter periodically pausing to let the former catch up. The branches were close enough together, but it was still a challenge. Josie was panting and her dress was ripped in several places she didn’t want to think about by the time the cat appeared to reach his destination. They were about halfway up the tree, and high enough from the ground that Josie was making an effort not to look down. She straightened once she had caught her breath, a hand on the trunk to balance herself. The cat was sitting on a branch that stretched near Josie’s midsection, watching her. “What now?” She asked.
It didn’t answer. Obviously.
But the garden did. Or so it seemed, for a breeze whispered past Josie and shook an outcropping of leaves in the crevice where the branch she was standing on met the tree’s trunk. But the leaves weren’t what drew her attention. It was the piece of paper tucked between them and folded in half. She bent to retrieve it, unfolding the paper to reveal a single word scribbled with splotched ink.
Run.
Team A | Lydia Fiore
I procrastinated this for so long😭 not my best work but it’ll do lol
Love the aesthetic of this one!!
The mix of humor and suspense was awesome! ✨
Rumors of the Forbidden
Team A 🐸
The candlelight flickered across the stone walls as Keona tiptoed past them. She stretched out her hand, dragging her fingers across the jagged edges of the concrete.
The air in the palace was silent and damp, especially in this corridor. Faint croaks could be heard from over the wall, and something rustled in a tree above.
It ignited a thrill inside her heart.
She had heard tales of The Boy King. He’d hardly attended a ball since his father’s untimely death, leaving his absence to be filled with rumors.
Keona’s parents found it unfortunate for her, as his betrothed.
They had not heard from the boy in years, until two Wednesdays ago when a crisp white envelope, sealed with red wax bearing the crest of a flower and sword, passed over her father’s desk.
She had dreaded the long ride to his kingdom, especially after the rumors her closest friends whispered in her ears. But she had grown bored of hiding in the bedroom provided to her.
After being left out of a meal the King and her parents shared in the dining hall, she had conspired a plan.
Keona had slipped on a pair of slippers, grabbed a candle, and snuck down the dark hallways by the moonlight.
Only once she slipped outside did she dare light the candle.
But as she turned the corner, spying a brass gate, the flame flickered and hissed. She jumped as the world grew darker around her.
She hesitated as her eyes strained to adjust. A dog barked in the distance, sending goosebumps down her neck. Her eyes followed a cricket as it hopped through the tall grass and between the bars of the gate.
Curiosity grew as she wondered what sights the insect could see. What was inside the forbidden garden? King Cedric was a man of few words, and the garden was an unspoken secret. Unspoken for all but the maids who whispered of strange sounds coming from it last night- unaware of the princess’ presence.
She took a deep breath, picked up her skirts, and charged the gate. Her heart pounded as her foot found a grip against the hinge. She hesitated as she gauged the distance to the ground before she threw her body over the gate and landed on the other side.
For a moment she sat there in the grass, listening to the thump of her heart against her chest until it settled. Only then did her eyes catch the tear in her dress, and the cuts along her arm.
She bolted upright before the stinging came. As her eyes lifted, her breath was stolen away by a million lightning bugs. It was like stepping into a dream. The air was sweet with honeysuckles and the sounds of the insects and amphibians. The light glinted off of a marble fountain, and millions of small flowers- all boasting different colors.
She bent down low to one of the flowers close by. Her fingers were tucked under the petals, a smile touching her lips at the tenderness. She watched with wonder, as a stray lightning bug flew down, landing on a nearby flower.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Keona sucked in a breath, counting milliseconds as she reached for the silver dagger in her pocket. By the time the presence was behind her, she had the upper hand.
Wide eyes met hers as their bodies collided against the wall. They quickly glanced down at the weapon, still hovering precariously, and winced when they noticed the flowers now crushed beneath their shoes.
He tried to open his mouth but Keona was faster, “Don’t move.”
A grin broke loose from the freckled face, “of course- princess.”
She faltered, a position Cedric quickly took advantage of. Keona gasped as he pushed her away, grabbed her wrist, and twisted the knife to the ground.
“I’ll give you this, I don’t usually count on catching a trespasser on these grounds at this hour. And it’s been a while since I’ve gotten use of all the training.” He picked up the knife, handed it back to her, and stuck his hands into his pockets. “I suppose I should thank you,” he shook his head, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Keona gaped, letting the cool silver handle seep onto her hand as she watched him. “Y-you aren’t mad?”
He spun, “mad?”
Heat spread over her face as she turned to the gate.
“Ah yes, well I’d prefer if you just turned the handle next time but who am I to spoil the fun of trespassing.”
Keona stood frozen as Cedric disappeared into the tangle of glowing vines ahead, the garden flickering with gold around him. She glanced down at the crushed flowers beneath her feet, shame creeping up her spine.
She stared at his back as he walked, his hands tucked into his coat, head tilted toward the stars as if he was listening to them speak. He didn’t look like the hysterical boy they all spoke of. He looked tired- and lonely.
“You’re not what I expected.”
Cedric turned just enough to glance at her over his shoulder. “Neither are you.”
He led her to a clearing where the fountain gurgled softly beneath a canopy of ivy. Vines coiled delicately around the stone, blooming even in the dark.
She reached a hand out to a drooping vine, smiling as a hidden bloom was revealed behind the shadows of others.
Cedric reached down, plucked a single bud, and held it to her. “I know what you must be thinking.”
Her heart thudded as she received it, her eyes suddenly finding interest in the ground, a stark contrast to the scorn she imagined in his gaze. “Forgive me, it was wrong of me to believe their lies.”
“I don’t mind their words, so much as you don’t believe them.”
Smiles bloomed on both faces, though the moment was stolen by racing raindrops. It was there, between laughter and the gleam of milky golden hues, that a new beginning bloomed.
ahhh I love this one. your descriptions were so beautiful!! i’d definitely read more of this characters<3
Thank you so much, Lydia!!!
I’m so glad you think so 🫶
(Team 1)
Only the crazy or the desperate ever attempted to enter the Garden of the Gods. As Cora stumbled under the heavy burden she carried on her back, she thought she might be both.
“Cora?” A sleepy voice murmured against her shoulder.
“Shh, just a little farther. Go back to sleep.” Cora tightened her grip as the little boy snuggled closer to her back and his arms fell limp around her neck.
The night was far spent, and her energy waned even as the sky began to show the barest hint of the coming dawn. In the darkness Cora had focused on putting one foot in front of the other, pushing aside all thoughts of the distance. Now, however, in the coming of the light, she risked an upward glance. If she wasn’t already gasping for breath, both from exertion and from the altitude, she would have let out a sigh of relief to find that she was indeed nearing her destination.
The trek up the mountain had been long and arduous. Mattheos didn’t have the strength to walk very far, so she had carried him for most of the journey. Thankfully, he didn’t weigh much, even though he was already approaching five turns around the sun.
Cora reached the grove just as the sun began to gift its first rays of light to the new day. She came to a stop before entering. Though the grove only marked the doorway to the Garden, there would be no turning back once she entered.
“Mattheos.” Cora called the boy’s name softly, shifting him from her back to rest on her hip.
“Are we there?” Drowsiness lingered in the young boy’s voice, even as he turned his head to take in their surroundings.
The trees were thick enough that they could not yet see the doorway from their position. Cora knew it was there, however. She remembered hearing the stories when she was a young girl: about a grove at the base of the Sentinels, two mountains that stood in a tall parallel, a narrow passage running between them; about a doorway hidden within the grove; and about a Garden, belonging to the Gods, from which all life flowed and into which all mortals were forbidden to enter.
“Almost,” she answered him, crossing into the grove slowly, alert to her surroundings. The stories had told of the grove’s existence, yes, but they never told what lay within, only that all who were foolish enough to enter never returned.
The grove opened to reveal a pool of crystal-clear water and on the other side of the pool, a wall of vines. Cora stopped at the water’s edge. She knew with a certainty she could not explain that the door must be concealed behind those vines, but how could she reach it? The pool was not very large, but it would be impossible to walk around it due to the brush growing on either side. She looked around for another way before her eyes fell on a small plaque, nearly hidden by the grass growing at the water’s edge. She kept a firm grip on Mattheos with one hand and carefully reached down with the other to reveal the lettering.
All who wish to enter must wash.
Could it be so simple? Cora peered once more into the still, translucent waters to the rocky bottom. It was perfect. Too perfect. But what choice did she have? She could not turn back now. There was nothing left for them in the place they had left behind, the village they had once called home. Only death awaited them there.
Mattheos remained silent on her hip as she slipped her sandals from her feet and discarded them before removing the boy’s sandals and placing them next to her own. With a deep breath, she stepped into the water. A shocked gasp escaped her lips as frigid cold pierced her feet.
“Cora?” Mattheos’ pained voice registered through her own agony, and she became aware of how tightly she was holding him. She focused her attention on loosening her hold. How was she supposed to go any further? How was she to subject Mattheos to the cold? Surely in his weakened state, he would not withstand such a shock.
“It’s alright, Mattheos,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “The water is just very cold.”
Cora took another step forward and another, until the water reached her knees. She never knew that cold could burn like fire. She couldn’t do this. Mattheos might die here. She might die here. They both would definitely die if they went back.
“Mattheos,” she tried to keep her voice steady and calm. “The water is very, very cold, but we must pass through it. Do you think you can be brave?”
Mattheos nodded solemnly in her arms. “I can be brave like you.” Cora didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She gave him a quick squeeze and shifted him to her back with instructions to hold on.
Cora painfully made her way across the pool, slipping once and submerging them both fully into the freezing water. They emerged on the other side, dripping and freezing. She hardly noticed as she stumbled through the open door, previously hidden in the vines. As soon as she crossed the threshold, however, a great warmth filled her whole being, stopping her in her tracks.
The sight before her was unlike any she had ever seen. The air was filled with music and light and life. Mattheos slipped from her back, grasping her hand and standing strong beside her, strong in a way her brother had never been before. His little face looked up into hers, and he smiled. Cora smiled back, her soul filled with a joy she had never known. They had made it. They were alive, not only alive but whole and well. As they walked forward into the forbidden garden, the Garden of the Gods and of Life, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
Team 1
The Girl in the Garden
Madi Kanagy
I was not expecting the girl.
Five minutes ago guards had been shoving me through the palace garden’s sprawling iron gates, fear churning deep in their eyes like the sea before a storm. They didn’t answer when I asked for the thirteenth time what was inside the garden walls. They left the second I was locked inside.
I’d heard rumors of criminals like me sentenced to the palace’s “forbidden garden.” When I was a kid my older brother and I would creep to the outskirts of town and watch the palace guards lead a criminal or two away to the south border. It was the only entertainment around for two restless, impoverished boys. My brother had told me that criminals were led to a hidden garden at the border when they were sentenced to death.
Now, I stood rigid under the opening stone arch, blood red roses reaching their labyrinth of petals toward me. My breath moved in shallow whispers through my tense chest. I scanned the layout for threats.
In any other situation, the garden would have been beautiful. Everywhere I looked the emerald claws of ivy twisted around stone columns and arches, tree trunks and gurgling fountains. Richly pigmented flowers burst forth like vivid fireworks, and caramel evening sunlight doused the foliage in an enchanting glow. Stone statues stood in recurring recesses in the ivy coated walls. There was no threat in sight. The balmy air was laden with thick silence.
Then I spotted her. The girl. Swept up in a dusty lavender dress, she lounged on a stone bench fifty feet in front of me, half concealed by a voluptuous rose bush. Glints of russet burned in her blonde hair from the evening sun.
“What did you do to get here?” she asked languidly, the words drooling from her rosy lips. She twirled a long stick between her fingers inattentively. “Murder someone?”
“Who are you?” I demanded, stripping my voice of emotion. My heart was pounding, but I kept my countenance cool and collected. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t reveal yourself. The rules had been seared into my mind.
The girl sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears, still holding her long, smooth stick. She lowered her voice to a hush. “If you want to survive, I’m your only hope.” She slid off the bench and noiselessly approached me. “Follow me,” she whispered. Her breath was cool and smelled like lavender.
I stood my ground. The grave tone lacing her voice and the sincerity flashing in her eyes were convincing. Don’t trust anyone. I analyzed her face. The guards had sent me to the garden to be killed. And as far as I knew, it was empty except for this girl.
My heartbeat quickened. She was going to kill me. I had been through too much, made too many mistakes to doubt it. How would she do it? With her bare hands that looked like soft ivory?
Don’t reveal yourself. I should have played dumb. I should have feigned ignorance. I should have waited. But staring into her vivid eyes, past the faulty sincerity, I saw malice that flashed sharper and hotter than I’d ever seen. It injected me with a kind of fear I’d never known before. And I snapped.
Careening around the girl, I bolted deep into the garden. Blood pounded in my ears. My whole body was quaking. I was not used to this kind of fear. Everywhere I turned, stone statues were perched in niches in the walls. I ducked behind one, leaning as far into the scratchy ivy as I could, sandwiched between the back of the statue and the wall. A minute passed, then three.
The detail of the statue caught my attention. This one was of a woman, and even from behind the folds of her dress were immaculate. Her hair almost looked real. I knew the kingdom had indescribably talented sculptors, but why would they go to the trouble of decorating this execution garden so stunningly?
Something was nagging in my mind. A memory. My brother used to tell me tales of fairies who turned trespassers into stone with a touch of their wand. I had always thought it was folklore.
Then I remembered the girl’s long, smooth stick. I remembered the hundreds of statues lining the entire garden. The hundreds of executed criminals before me.
My heart catapulted into my throat.
Footsteps crunched a stone’s throw in front of my hiding place. Then that lilting, listless voice. “Fool.”
I instinctively reached for my knife, just to remember I’d been disarmed weeks ago. Panicked dizziness swept over me as the footsteps got closer. No common girl would use the word “fool” as hauntingly as she did.
Sharpen your mind. Stay in control. I’d been in this situation hundreds of times before, although it’d only ever been my freedom on the line. Not my life.
The footsteps ceased in front of the statue. The tip of the girl’s stick flashed behind the statue the same second I slipped out in front of it from the opposite direction. For a split second the girl’s back was to me, and I launched myself up onto the garden wall, clinging to the ivy. The moment the girl turned, I toppled onto her head-on.
Five horrifying seconds of scrambling later, and I bounced off of her, breathless, brandishing her smooth stick with white knuckles.
The girl stumbled backwards, her eyes burning bright with terror. “You’re different,” she rasped. “Quicker. Please. I’ll spare you. We can work together -”
My heart was bucking like a wild beast in my chest. For a horrible moment, I considered her. The auburn glint in her hair was distracting. The pure anxiety flickering in her eyes was convincing. The raw, awakened edge to her voice was heart-wrenching.
I slammed my eyes shut and touched the stick to her lips. When I looked again, my heart leapt into my throat.
I dropped the stick and ran.
Any constructive criticism/feedback would be highly appreciated, whether it be encouragement or something to improve/work on. Thank you!
Nice story! There was a nice amount of unexplained mystery, which added to the implied world building, but you made sure to give enough information to make everything understandable.
Even in the short 1000 word length, you managed some plot turns that were a little unexpected (but that felt natural).
Any constructive criticism I would have would be some of the descriptions read like they are trying to be “writerly”. They paint a picture, but sometimes they felt like “purple prose” to me. It’s a balancing act, beign descriptive and evoking emotions and feelings vs. using overly-flowery adjectives, and every person will receive things differently. This is my feeling after reading. And really, I don’t know what I would recmmend be changed if I were to dive in deep . . . because you effectively described things.
Beyond that, the story sits in a world that I know nothing about, but that I felt like I understood completely. THis was an enjoyable read. And I was glad to see the narrator actually taking proactive steps.
I do wonder . . . would the MC go back for the wand if it means escape? You got me thinking about the story after the story. 🙂
Ben – Thank you so much for the feedback, I really appreciate it!
Team #1
The Garden by Ada Flannery
They said the statue in the forbidden garden had no eyes, but somehow she saw everything. The twisting vines that crept across the stone paths, the cocky stride of those who dared to enter, the whisper of the lies spewing from their lips and hiding in their hearts.
Nothing escaped her notice. She had stood there for centuries, weathered and aged by storms, almost forgotten by time, and yet her presence never faded. Those who entered, stepping beyond the gates of the crumbling stone wall spoke of a feeling, a weight, a pressure like that of being pinned down, caught. Few returned with their minds in one piece. Fewer still spoke of what they had witnessed and none dared to meet the empty gaze of the statue.
“Theora, that’s it’s name, they say it’s the reason for the madness.”
“The statue is that of a woman, she stands on a pedestal surrounded by the offerings of those who had gone to seek wisdom.”
Johnathan sat quietly, listening to the conversation of some of the older men from the village. He hated the way they spoke of this forbidden place. He loved the idea of a place so magical that it changed the minds of those who entered. He wished that he could see the garden with his own eyes.
He looked up and met the eyes of one of the storyteller men. The man quickly looked down at his plate and pretended that Johnathan didn’t exist. Johnathan stood and abruptly left.
As he walked down the road he noticed a discarded rose lying in the gutter. He bent and picked it up. He looked at it and images of a garden flooded his mind. He needed to go to the garden. He changed directions and walked into the forest.
He knew where the garden was said to be and a lot of the kids from the village would go and dare each other to touch the statue.
He walked further into the woods and he found a small stone walkway that was almost completely covered with fallen yellow and orange leaves. He walked in silence. The path was winding and long and he was about to turn back when he saw the gate.
He stopped at the entrance and stared at the twisted metal. He wanted to leave this place but just as he thought he had taken a step back, he found himself in the garden.
He was absolutely in awe of the wild elegance of this place. Twisting trees met overhead like the roof of a cathedral, their golden leaves seemed to whisper to each other sending the message of his arrival to those near them. The place was filled with flowers many he knew the names of. There were sunflowers, roses, azaleas, chrysanthemums, Dalilahs, peonies, lavender and so many more that he knew because of his mother and many more that he never even imagined. Vines carpeted the ground. Nothing grew in neat rows the way my mother had kept her garden. It was a beautiful chaos.
Johnathan loved this place until he saw the statue. The Theora. The watcher and protector. She just stood, and it felt like her eyes held him in place. He took a step towards her and felt an overwhelming sense of sadness, as if he was experiencing the feelings of those who had entered this place before and failed to gain what they craved. He walked up to the place she stood and could see the offerings of those who had come before. There were necklaces, rings, precious stones, and various other trinkets.
He hadn’t brought anything to give. He was still holding the rose. Johnathan knew that it wasn’t much but it was all he had on him. He gently laid it in the bowl. Johnathan whirled around when he heard the soft and deep voice of a woman, but no one else was there. He looked up and stared into the eyes of the statue. It was beautifully carved and a crown of dried roses rested gently on her head.
“You bring a rose, a symbol of love…. And loss. But love dies and withers when not deeply rooted in truth. If you would honor this place, you must bear what you hide. Give me a secret buried in silence, or a truth too heavy to speak aloud. Only then shall I listen.”
Jonathan was frightened. He didn’t want to say anything. But something nagged at the back of his brain telling him to answer. He looked down as he began to speak.
“I pretend I’m fine,” Johnathan said quietly, eyes still fixed on the ground. “I laugh when I’m supposed to. I show up where I’m expected. But inside…” He hesitated, fingers tightening at his sides. “Inside I feel like I’m fading. Like I could disappear and no one would notice. I don’t think anyone really sees me—not who I am. Not anymore. Maybe they never did.” He looked up at the statue, voice almost a whisper. “That’s the truth. I feel alone, even when I’m surrounded. And I hate that I’ve gotten used to it.”
The world around him started to shake and he fell to his knees. He looked up at her face and a single tear slid from a crack at the corner of her eye.
“You did not lie. If you are brave enough to tell the truth then you are brave enough to be remembered, but not.” The world stopped shaking and Johnathan saw a door at the bass of the statue. Beyond it he saw another garden even more beautiful than the one in which he stood. He didn’t hesitate to step through, he was never seen again by those on the other side.The door closed behind him, the garden returned to its original state and she stood waiting.
i want to see what happens after this! You did a really great job! I can totally see this as prologue to what really happens in the statue’s garden. where Johnathan maybe finds the answer and the truth, where he heals and isn’t lonely anymore!
Thanks so much for commenting, I think that would be really cool. Send him on a few adventures to help him on the way!
The Village.
Once upon a time there lay a boy in an old house, his name was Jonah. Jonah had wanted to help his mother who was sick and dying at the time, and he ended up leaving the house to search for a cure. Legend has it he discovered something to heal her, but when he came back for more, to tame his greedy spirit, he was never seen again.
Oliver was bored out of his mind, his mother had kept reading random folk tales to entertain them, but it was failing spectacularly. Oliver’s sister, Karoline, wasn’t even listening, and she spent her whole day making up folk tales! His mom seemed to have noticed that they weren’t listening and decided to quiz them.
“Ok kids, so-what did Jonah find to help his mother?”
Jacob yawned, pretending to know.
“He found a potion to heal her.”
His mother frowned, clearly he hadn’t gotten in right, the car finally stopped and they stepped out of the car. Oliver found an urge to kiss the ground, happy to finally be out of that infernal car, he decided not to, not wanting Karoline to have more things to blackmail him with.
“This is our house?” Karoline whimpered, staring at the log cabin in front of them,
“well-” their mother started,
“this place goes for a more-old-fashioned feel.”
Oliver sighed, wishing he was back in New York, maybe there were muggers, so what!?
It was better than living in this rustic feeling village.
It was true, every house was identical, except for one next to theirs, that one was filled to the brim with many colorful flowers, everywhere flowers could be put, and everywhere Oliver thought they couldn’t.
“well-” his mother said, taking in the sight, “Let’s get our stuff out of the car!”
Oliver sighed, his mom was far to cheery about living in a place that had trees, not that he had much against them, they kinda just stood there.
Oliver had put away almost everything he thought was possible, when his mom came back over dropping another suitcase. His mom had said she wanted to move away from new york to be free of all the crowds, but with all the stuff she’d packed, it was like they were recreating new york itself.
Oliver raced his mind through several ways to try not to unload more stuff, when a knock sounded on the door. Oliver’s mother went over to open it, revealing a man wearing an oversized blue jacket, and a fancy blue hat with black feathers poking out. He smiled at Oliver’s mother, clearing his throat.
“Ah-hello! Welcome to Pemberton! I am sure you have read the brochure?”
His mom smiled, “yes, you have great folk tales! and you…are the mayor?”
He smiled, waving his hat around, “Is it really THAT obvious?”
His mother nodded, trying not to laugh at the man wearing the bird hat. Oliver didn’t see what was so funny about all of this,
“So-i’m sure if you’ve read the brochure-you know the rules here?”
She nodded, the man with the bird hat started speaking again,
“well-i hope you do know that it is quite illegal to go into- the town’s garden. It is still under renovation!”
Oliver’s mother frowned, “I remember, when i was younger, me and dale-my late husband, had gone on vacation to this place..strange thing is-i don’t remember much … .but I do remember that the garden was also closed then.”
The man frowned, “You must be imagining things, but it doesn’t matter much, just don’t disobey the rules-oh- and the festival of flowers is happening tomorrow! you’re just in time!”
Oliver’s mom smiled again, “Oh yes- i read about this! You have these every year-”
“ah-but this isn’t an ordinary festival of flowers, it’s the 30th one! It’s been a long wait for every person in the village!”
Now Oliver’s mother frowned , a little confused.
“No-that’s not right, not possibly everyone could be waiting for it-even the kids?”
The man with the hat’s smile wavered, “Ah-yes, forgive me. incorrect grammar…well-i hope you have a great time at the Village! Any questions kids?”
Oliver raised his hand,
“yes?” the man with the bird hat said.
Oliver pointed at a murder of crows, circling around the sky above the man.
“It looks like the Crows are watching us-are they?”
The man smiled. “They have been watching us for a long time Oliver, a long time.”
Oliver was on his bike, riding around the village, trying to get, as his mom put it, “a lay of the field” he had decided to ride around, nearly smashing into a couple houses.
Why are they so close together? he wondered. He wondered many things-including The man with he bird hats attitude, something had been strange, and why did all the villagers look at them with disdain and confusion-had it been that long since they had a visitor?
He had been thinking a bit too hard and lost track of what was going on, slamming into a house. The bike jumped back, slamming into an open gate. He stood up, realizing he was in the garden that The man with the bird hat had warned him about. He stared around, seeing many plants and berries, he went over to one of the ripest tomatoes, his mother had always loved them, and snatched it, forgetting about how he wasn’t supposed to be there.
instead of plucking off-it stayed on, but a click sounded, and in the wall of the garden, a door opened. Nothing he could do would stop him from going in there, what could he say? He got it from his dad. He stepped down, looking around, wondering if anyone was watching him. He was pleased to find he was safe, and rushed down the rest of the stairs, not noticing that he WAS being watched. by a murder of crows, staring at him retreating down.
he looked around, he was in another garden, one much bigger than expected, plants he had never seen before shined, he gaped around him. It was beautiful. How could something like this be hidden? he went over to a table filled with herbs, it had instructions on it,
one herb of red, one moonlight beed, and one purple tomato.
on the table there rested just these items, he gulped, knowing he shouldn’t be down in this-this secret garden, but it was so beautiful, how could he resist. He followed the instructions, mashing them together, until he had a cup of bluish liquid. What did he do now, drink it?
suddenly a flapping was sounded, and a crow slammed into him, making the glass shatter.
“what the-”
the crow swooped over to the liquid , lapping it up. the crow started morthing, morphing into a bigger, devilish crow, and then the blackness faded away, revealing a human.
Oliver whimpered at the boy who had appeared.
“who-who are you?”
The boy smiled, as if he wasn’t just a crow two seconds ago.
“You can call me Jonah.”
(TEAM HERBERT/team A.)
Wow, this story has that movie quality to it. It actually reminded me of Studio Ghibli, a Japanese studio that creates animated movies that are very whimsical and timeless. I feel like this is just the beginning of Oliver’s story and how he’ll come to learn the consequences of entering the forbidden garden. I am glad we got to learn what happened to Jonah, but I have so much questions about his curse/condition. Very intriguing!
Thank you so much!! I actully have watched TONS of Studio Ghibli, so maybe thats where this came from.
A nice little folktale, with a couple of folktales layered inside like nesting dolls!
You got me wondering about the history of this place and the people of the place . . . I do feel like this story could be just the beginning of something bigger!
Team Herbert
The Gifted’s Garden
Alethea peered at the tiny sign, leaning in to study it closer.
To those who know the ways of the mighty:
You see great love
Hear lights
Taste colors
Smell words
Feel numbers
You alone may enter.
All others: KEEP OUT
Alethea stepped back. This made no sense. “Taste colors? Smell words?” She groaned. “Whatever.” She hurried past the sign and pushed through the hanging vines next to it. Her mouth hung open as she looked around the lush garden.
“Those are the ugliest flowers I’ve ever seen,” she mumbled. Walking a little further, she realized there was special lighting effects on the plants, changing their colors and – or at least it gave the illusion of – added textures. She leaned close to one flower, trying to determine its true color. She slid her hand between the light and the flower. It was a deep goldenrod color with eggplant light over it. What an odd combination, she thought. She noticed the texture from the light and tried to touch it. Instead of feeling anything, eggplant light covered her arm, with tiny 2s all over it. Her heart raced. A vision of a young girl flashed before her. She felt a trace of wind across her face – only her face. She turned rapidly, expecting to confront the person behind her. She might not taste colors, but she always knew when someone was around. “What do you want?” she nearly shouted as she turned.
No one was there. Alethea didn’t understand. Ever since she had understood this gift, it had been accurate. Was there something about this odd garden that tangled her abilities? She shook her head and glanced around the garden, looking for evidence of another person. Or animal. Maybe a creature? There! She felt it again, but this time, she turned a quarter of a turn the opposite way. She gasped as the young girl in her vision stood before her.
“You mustn’t be here,” whispered the girl.
“Please,” begged Alethea. “I seek sanctuary.”
“If the one who seeks you is one of us, this will not be a sanctuary for you.”
“I – I don’t understand. What kind of garden is this?”
“This is a garden for those who are gifted in the ways of the mighty,” replied the young girl, who was clad in a simple lavender nightgown. “Others will find it very uncomfortable.”
“I don’t understand,” exclaimed Alethea.
The girl smiled softly. “My name is Esme.” She studied Alethea before continuing. “Tell me, do you notice anything strange about this garden?”
“I’m Alethea. The flowers are ugly, and the lights don’t help,” she blurted. She covered her mouth and cringed. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so blunt.”
Esme tilted her head. “Hmmm. This is interesting.” She closed her eyes and breathed in. She nodded before opening her eyes. “Did you read the sign before coming in?”
Alethea rolled her eyes. “Yes. It was nonsensical.” She clasped her hand over her mouth again. Her face reddened, and she thought for a moment. “I mean, it made no sense to me?”
Esme started to respond, but Alethea did a one-eighty, stepping in front of Esme in a protective manner. “Who are you, and what do you want?” No one. Again? she thought. What is going on?
Esme stiffened behind her.
“I am Malyar, the master gardener here.” The imposing man before them stood with his arms crossed and his stance wide.
Esme’s eyes widened. “How did you know he was coming?”
Alethea scrunched up her face. She hadn’t wanted to reveal this gift and now was not the time to speak bluntly. She fought to speak truth without revealing everything. “I… had a hunch, is all.” She shrugged, hoping they believed her.
“There were new words in the garden, Esme. Were they not what drew you here?” Malyar smiled at the two girls.
“I was over by the lights. I wanted to try something different,” said Esme. “I saw Alethea come in.”
“Alethea?” Malyar’s brows lifted as he turned to her. “So, the words that were spoken with your scent were very accurate.” Alethea’s face reflected confusion, so Malyar continued. “I heard there is a Truth-Teller in our midst.”
Esme stared in disbelief at Alethea. “You’re a Truth-Teller?”
“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” stammered Alethea. “I came in here to escape –” She stopped. “I mean –” she glanced between the others and sighed. “Oh, never mind.” She held her lips closed with her thumb and forefinger.
“Alethea, I can tell you have many questions.” Alethea nodded furiously. “Let’s start with our garden. You read the sign and came in anyway. I hope that by now, you have figured out a little of the warning from the sign.” Malyar paused as Alethea took a moment to think about the sign with what she had seen of the garden. Her eyes brightened. He cpntinued, “You figured it out! The color of the flowers may not be pretty, but looking at them leaves a pleasant taste in the mouths of the gifted. The light may not visually flatter the flowers, but the gifted hears a pleasant song. The numbers you see as texturized light are felt by the gifted – without a physical touch.”
“What about the Truth-Teller thing?” asked Alethea.
“Truth-Tellers are not common. They come only from outside the garden and are often gifted in other ways. Upon entering the garden, those gifts are strengthened. I’m sure you’ve already noticed this with your ability to see people coming to you.” Malyar smiled kindly. “Do you know your other gifts?”
“How did you do that?” asked Alethea. She pointed to Malyar and told Esme, “He asked me something without saying anything.”
“As the master gardener, I have been gifted that ability of the Truth-Tellers. Fragrance tells us a great deal here, Alethea. You have many gifts. The Garden will help you strengthen them before you leave us.” He held out his hand. “Come, you have much to discover.”
Melissa, this was such a fun read with good world-building that left me really curious about what awaits Alethea. I would very much like to know what exactly a Truth Teller’s ability is and how Alethea came to possess such a gift (and multiple ones at that!). This reads a lot like a YA book with mystery and magical elements, which I love reading. Really cool concept!
Thank you! This is so far out of my element from what I usually write, but it was fun to do.
this was so fun and such a great idea to expand later !! you are such a great writer my friend!
I really enjoyed reading this. Is this part of something bigger by any chance? I’d love to read more about this world.
It’s not yet a part of something bigger. 🙂 I’ve not written a lot in this genre, but I might explore it further with this. Thank you for the encouragement!
Just under the wire! My attempt at a gothic tale for Team 1. (I hope the dividing lines between scenes don’t count as words.)
The Gardener’s Gift
It wasn’t the woman’s beauty which transfixed me, nor the coquettish, ivy-eyed glance, or the tailored, smoke-like dress.
It was the flower.
I had never seen such a bloom: five-pointed, milky like an Ipomoea alba but with a peculiar ring of crimson seeping toward the pistil. Furthermore, this variety of Moonflower had thorns. The woman held the stem delicately around the barbs as if about to play a woodwind.
Such a pair of captivating apparitions lit by streaks of penumbral oil-based moonbeams.
The maid yanked the fabric from my hands, rehiding the stairwell painting with it. “Snooping around your new master’s premises before you’ve even started?” she scolded.
“Apologies. I suffer from excessive curiosity,” I explained with an unrequited smile. “I take it from the black cloth she—”
“Yes,” she completed. “Thirty years ago. Before my time. I know nothing more except Mr. Caleb has grown ever more melancholy. Protested to work the grounds himself, but age has caught up with him. That’s why you’re here.” She gestured me into the kitchen. “You will maintain the grounds of the estate. The garden at the base of the hillside is forbidden.”
I peered down the sloping lawn through a nearby window. Far down the Yorkshire heather lay a blight of stone walls, a gate, and unkempt foliage. “The gardener not allowed to garden?” I quipped. She found no humor in it.
“The tools you’ll need are in your quarters. Here are your keys. You’ll receive five pounds a week. You can start today.”
I nodded. “Yes’m.”
“And Master is not to be disturbed. Please come to me.”
“Thank you.” I said, pocketing the keys and pivoting. I veered, however, to steal another look at the flower. A creak at the top of the stairs froze me.
An elderly hand, bandaged, gripped the railing of the landing above, its owner shrouded in shadow. The hand withered back into the darkness, followed by the dissipating groans of wood.
The flower could wait. I retreated outside to survey the grounds of Hollowcroft Manor.
———-
Hollowcroft’s foliage took a beautiful turn. I had a talent for husbandry and a knack to help plant life “live” longer. Call it a preternatural gift.
Work was peaceful, and I was left unchecked. In fact, I never saw Mr. Caleb pass the thresholds of Hollowcroft.
Save for once a month.
When he visited the garden at night.
I first observed his nocturnal ambulations after a fortnight. A thump and moan outside my quarters woke me. In the dim light of the thinnest, crescent moon, I saw Mr. Caleb. He had stumbled, recovered, then continued down, passing through shadows of the forbidden garden, remaining there until morning.
After the third happenstance, my curiosity convinced me to investigate.
I waited for a full moon (for Mr. Caleb had strangely never come out during one). I found footing on the back of the stone wall and made my way inside.
The garden felt more forgotten than forbidden. Neglect had melded the foliage into one monstrous plant, save for the center where stood a knee-high stone structure enwrapped by thorny vines.
Atop this sat–a pearl white Moonflower. This centerpiece had not been forgotten: it bore signs of attention and care.
My heart flipped over as I approached. Kneeling close, I discovered faded lettering on the stone and a year thirty years prior.
So, my master, through his frailty, journeyed to his wife’s grave each month. Rusty stains decorating the headstone told the tale of a grieving man who loved his wife still, enough to go through a hell of thorns to hold her again.
A tenderness unfurled in my heart.
My knack.
I would take his wife’s flower, remove its thorns, and extend its life to near immortal. No more treacherous trips on barely moonlit nights to an overrun sepulcher.
It was settled. I thanked God for my curiosity and gift as I detached the flower.
———-
I determined to poetically surprise Mr. Caleb the night of his next visitation.
Under a thin-crescent glow, I crunched up the path into the house.
I made my way upstairs, passing the veiled portrait with my own sly glance. With my thumping chest competing with the creaking floorboards, I rapped gently on the door at the end of the hall.
A shuffle. “Who’s there?” an elderly voice asked, a concoction of surprise and annoyance.
“Amos, sir, your gardener,” I answered.
After a huff, “Come in.”
I nudged the door. Mr. Caleb stood beside a telescope at a far window. Open books cluttered the room.
“Yes?” he blustered.
The flower and pot heavied in my hand. “I have a gift.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve observed your outings to the garden, sir.”
He merely observed me and swallowed.
“And I,” I revealed the flower. “I thought this would be better for you, to have her here. You don’t have to walk all that way anymore.”
Shock hardened his countenance, his bottom lip quivering.
“Thirty years. Gone,” he muttered. “What did you do?”
“Well, sir, I have a knack for—”
“What. Did. You. Do?”
“Sir?”
“She must remain! It must be repeated tonight, before the New Moon’s darkness. She desires utter darkness!” Mr. Caleb seized the Moonflower. “Maybe it will still work.” He set it down, tearing off his bandages. Then–confusion. “Where are the thorns?”
“Filed down, sir—”
“It must be her thorns or the blood sacrifice won’t work!”
I moved closer and saw the books clearly: arcane languages, symbols, a sketch depicting a beautiful woman emerging from a white-and-red flower, its thorns pricking the finger of a willing but frightened man.
A gust tore through the window, extinguishing the lamps. The telescope crashed, its lens shattering.
The Moonflower radiated. Ice coursed through my bones as a ruby line appeared, tracing the edge of the petals, and drained into the flower like vermillion veins.
From the flower’s center, a pale, feminine hand arose, twisting and reaching out.
I cursed my curiosity.
The Living Archive
Team 1
The gate wasn’t locked—just buried in ash and time. Thorne pried it open with trembling fingers, the iron groaning like a dying thing. Beyond it, the air changed. No scent of rot or dust. Just stillness. And light. Not sunlight, but something softer, flickering along the vines that twisted through the ruins like veins.
He had come looking for food. What he found were ghosts, blooming.
The Forbidden Garden had stood untouched for decades, walled off by rusted fences and whispered warnings. No one came back from it, they said. Not hungry. Not whole. But hunger did strange things to fear. And Thorne’s sister hadn’t eaten in days.
He stepped inside.
The ground wasn’t soil, but a bed of glowing moss that softened under his boots. Strange flowers—if you could call them that—stood tall and luminous, their petals made of light and memory. When the wind passed through, it carried voices. Laughter. Screams. Prayers. Words in languages Thorne had never heard before.
He reached for a bloom that shimmered gold. Its warmth brushed his fingers.
The world shifted.
He now stood in a white room filled with glass and metal. People in lab coats rushed around him. A woman’s voice cut through the noise.
“We knew this was coming. If the last of us don’t act, there won’t be anything left. We’ll store it here. All of it. Everything worth remembering.”
Thorne gasped and stumbled back.
The memory collapsed, and the garden returned.
He stared at the golden flower, still glowing, its light dimmed. Waiting.
It wasn’t a hallucination—it was a memory. Real. Intact. A moment plucked from the past, preserved.
He reached for another bloom, this one flickering blue.
A small kitchen, dimly lit. A man kneaded dough on a cracked counter, humming low. Rain tapped the windows. Behind him, a second pair of hands helped shape the loaf—smaller, clumsier. A child. Laughter. Warmth. The scent of yeast and rosemary.
Then it was gone.
He wandered deeper. Each step stirred voices, petals opening like mouths of history. One bloom showed a city bustling with life—before the sky turned red. Another whispered poetry in a trembling voice. A third let him feel music, rising from someone’s chest like sunlight on water.
One bloom showed a man weeping as fire roared outside his window. Another held a woman murmuring equations in her sleep. A third revealed an elder praying not to be forgotten.
These weren’t stories. They were messages. Warnings. Gifts. Seeds.
Memories, planted by those who came before, hoping someone—anyone—would listen.
The truth struck like a blow. The garden wasn’t cursed. It was a sanctuary, a vault of living truth. This was where the world buried its wisdom. Not in books, but in living memory. Preserved in roots and light. Hidden in fear. Guarded by silence.
A vine brushed his shoulder. He flinched—but it only nudged him forward.
Beneath an arch of glowing ivy, he found another bloom. This one buzzed the moment he touched it.
A boy—barely older than Thorne—sat cross-legged beside a flickering plant. Machines hummed behind him.
“This seed stores power,” the boy said, turning a crank. A red light blinked as his voice was recorded.
“Photosynthesis, energy retention, drought resistance, no soil needed. The grown-ups think it’s too late. I don’t. If someone finds this…please plant it.”
Thorne opened his hand. There, in his palm, was a small green pod. Real. Alive!
He looked up. The garden had gone silent.
Then came the final memory—not from a flower, but the vines themselves. He saw a young woman kneeling in the center of the garden, hands pressed to the moss.
“Let the world remember,” she said, her voice breaking.
Light consumed her. Her body dissolved. Memories bloomed behind her—silent, eternal.
That was the price. The choice.
Stay, and become part of it.
Or leave, take what you can and go.
Thorne hesitated. For the first time in days, he felt warm. Full. No hunger. No pain. The garden held him like a mother’s arms.
He could stay. Become another bloom. A keeper of the past.
He saw others here—faint silhouettes between the vines. Peaceful. Whole. Forgotten.
But peace wasn’t survival. And forgetting wasn’t healing.
His sister was waiting.
He looked at the seed—still pulsing. Still alive. The world outside was starving—not just for food, but for memory. For truth.
“I can’t stay,” he said. “Not yet.”
He closed his hand around the seed and stepped back. “I’ll come back,” he whispered. “But not alone.”
The garden let him go. No resistance. No judgment. Just wind, carrying the faintest of thanks.
Thorne crossed the threshold and vanished into the ash. The sky was red. Merciless.
But in his hand, the seed was warm.
And alive.
This time, the world would remember.
They always told us not to enter the garden. The garden being any garden, anywhere, under any circumstances. Remember Peter Rabbit, and all that.
“Why?” I would ask. “He made it home safe in the end.”
This was always met with a quick thump on the rear from Mum. And a rabbit’s foot can thump pretty hard, even if you do have a fluffy cottontail to soften the blow.
Still, I always managed to get close to the garden behind the pale yellow house bordering our neck of the woods. Close enough to sniff the luscious lettuce, mouth-watering carrots, soul-freeing cucumbers.
I sniffed a little too loudly, even let a drop of drool slide from my mouth. Sharp-eyed Daisy saw.
“Now don’t you go sniffing what don’t belong to you,” said Daisy.
I rolled my eyes. Bossy older sisters. Just because she was ten seconds older than me she thought she could tell me what to sniff and not sniff.
“The grass isn’t greener on the other side, you know,” she added.
“But it’s not just grass,” I replied. “It’s eggplant, and tomatoes, and potatoes, and carrots, and lettuce, and—”
“Apple Fritter, you are starting down a very dangerous path.” Daisy gave me her infamous side eyes. Of course all rabbits’ eyes are on the side of their head, but there was something about Daisy’s that sent chills down your spine. “Remember Peter Rabbit.”
“Go bug Buttercup and Violet,” I said, and turned with a talk-to-the-cottontail huff.
By some miracle, she hopped off. Poor Buttercup and Violet.
Ears twitching, I glanced over my shoulder. The only daisies in sight were the actual flowers.
“Should I go?” I whispered.
The daisies nodded in the breeze, as if to whisper “Yes, Apple Fritter. Try your luck at the garden.”
So I went. Zigzagging through the flowerless grass behind the pale yellow house, stopping with ears erect every few hops to make sure I wasn’t followed.
What do you expect to happen when you name your bunny baby after a human food? Of course Daisy, Buttercup, and Violet preferred wildflowers. Name your rabbit offspring Apple Fritter and she’s going to have to try out the human’s food. Even at the risk of being cooked into a pie, like Peter Rabbit’s father.
The garden was just a hop away. Tomatoes hung a whisker length from my nose, red and ripe and practically bursting with juice. I inhaled a buffet of scents, and felt woozy with the variety of freshness and flavors.
I licked my front teeth, long and sharp and ready to sink into those tomatoes. I opened wide, sank into the red skin, and—
“Look, Mommy, look!”
I froze. Teeth still half in the tomato. Heart thumping so wildly I almost fainted, as many a weaker bunny has done.
A pair of bright pink shoes skipped toward me, followed by larger brown ones.
“What is it, Mabel?” asked brown shoes.
“It’s a baby bunny!” squealed pink shoes. “Can I hold it?”
Apparently waiting for the adult’s permission is optional in the human world, because as soon as the question was out two grubby hands reached for me.
This was the time to flee, of course. To zip out of there, go crying home to Mum and thank the Creator I wasn’t warming any humans in the form of a rabbit pie.
But that’s not what I did.
I froze once more and let those dirt-covered fingers lift my stiff body into the air. Let me help you put that water to boiling, I basically told her. Sharpen those butcher knives and I’ll make sure that pie crust is ready.
“Mabel, you put that down right now!” Brown shoes’ words cut through my morbid reverie. “Don’t you know it could hurt you?”
Me, hurt a human? Weren’t they the ones who were literally going to eat me?
It didn’t matter though, because Mabel didn’t listen. She cupped both hands around me and lifted me to her chest, squishing my ear against her shirt.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. But through the roar, I heard something else.
Someone else’s heartbeat. Smooth and steady, as though this was the happiest moment of her life.
I risked moving my head to get a peak at Mabel’s face. Beneath the freckles and sunburn, I saw absolute contentment. Happiness greater than mine at the sight of the lettuce and tomatoes that got me into this mess.
“Stop it, Mabel!” Brown shoes whisked me out Mabels hands and tossed me onto the ground. I somersaulted (something I didn’t know bunnies could do until just then), and beelined it out of there.
I didn’t risk a backwards glance at the tomatoes. Or carrots. Or even the lettuce.
But as I reached the safety of the treeline, I did throw a glance at Mabel. She waved at me.
I twitched an ear in return.
And felt my heart warm at the sight of her.
Team A
Eye of the Storm – A. W. Morisseau – Team A
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Tirzah gasped and spun around. The Watcher glared at her with suspicious, knowing eyes. She hated those eyes—hazel, radiant, eternal. She’d been a fool for hoping she’d slip into the forbidden garden undetected. “Are you going to report me?”
The Watcher chewed his bottom lip, an unreadable expression on his ageless face. “I’m only a watchman, not the Warden. Why are you here?”
“My daughter.” As Tirzah spoke, images of little Hannah straining for breath flooded her thoughts. “She has the sickness. If she doesn’t take the elixir, she’ll be dead within a week.”
“Woman, there are worse things than death.”
“How could you possibly know? Your kind never dies, never gets sick.”
A shadow fell over the Watcher’s countenance. He took a long time to reply. “Your burden is not like our burden.”
Tirzah huffed and turned back toward the Alacritus bush. With a determined snap, she pulled off a branch of purple leaves and white flowers. “I’m taking this. Hand me over to the Warden if you will.”
“Fool!” The Watcher’s eyes burned like crimson fire. “You’ve violated the sacred garden!”
“My child is sacred! Not this wretched place.” She hurried past the Watcher even though it was hopeless to run.
“Stop!” The Watcher drew his flaming sword and laid it before her path.
Tirzah froze, eyeing the flickering blade. “So, you’ve made your decision. You’ll serve the Wardens and let my people suffer.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t I? My entire life, I’ve watched how you Watchers cower before the Wardens. You act like gods, but you’re cowards at heart.”
“The Wardens prevent Chaos from returning. There is more at stake than one child. If Chaos returns, it would drag this entire world under its curse.”
“To save my daughter, I’d light the sky on fire.”
“If you leave with that branch, you just might.”
Tirzah gripped the branch tighter. A thorn pricked her skin, drawing a bead of red from her finger.
“The Alacritus bush is not to be trifled with. Heal your daughter, it may, but at what cost?”
“A mother would pay any cost for her child.”
The Watcher shook his head. “Powerful magic has dangerous consequences. You are treading in places mankind is not meant to venture.”
Tirzah swallowed. The Watcher spoke the truth. Before hatching her scheme, she’d visited the Seer and glimpsed the things to come. Every path led to perdition—every path save one—the path through the eye of the Chaos storm. “I’ve made my decision. If you will not allow me to leave with the branch, you will have to take me to the Wardens yourself.” She stood tall, hoping against hope that the Watcher would relent.
“I take no joy in handing you over, but you have chosen your own fate.”
“Chosen my own fate?” Tirzah laughed joylessly. “You give us no choice but to die like animals while the Wardens dominate this land. When will the Watchers do something? You could throw them off if you had spines.”
The Watcher narrowed his gaze. “Things are not as simple as you pretend.” He grasped her bicep with his powerful hand.
Tirzah’s skin prickled beneath her mage cloak as he pulled her away from the Alacritus bush. She clamped the stolen branch to her chest, a futile gesture. Her fate was sealed. The best she could hope for was a quick death for her and her daughter if this failed. “They’ll throw me in the abyss, you know that.”
The Watcher looked away as he pulled her through the garden toward the silver tower where the Wardens stayed. “I fear they will.”
“You fear? You’re handing me over to them. This is on your head as much as theirs.”
“Silence. You’ve spoken enough. You knew the sacred decrees before you set foot in this garden.” With an abrasive tug, he pulled her along.
Tirzah fought back tears. She’d hoped it would never come to this—her last desperate play, the one the Seer had shown her—the play that would restore the Chaos. Hands trembling, she dropped the branch and pulled the black shard from her pocket.
“Where did you get that?” The Watcher released her and jolted back. The glint in his eye betrayed abject horror as he stared at the blacker than black object. “You shouldn’t be able to wield that!”
“I’d do anything to save her.” Tirzah raised the shard, aiming the point at the Watcher. “I’d burn the sky and raise the earth. I’ll send you to the fires if you try to stop me.”
“No! What are you doing? You’ve invited the Chaos back into the land!”
“Then pray Chaos will be a better master than your Wardens.” Lightning jumped from the black shard and consumed the Watcher. With a scream, he fell to the ground. Tirzah picked up the branch and ran. “I love you, Hannah. Not even Chaos can stop that.”
As Tirzah ran, the sky blackened with storm clouds. Chaos was coming. The thought sent a chill through her blood, but there was no time for regret or second-guessing. She’d made up her mind before she’d sneaked into the garden. Her daughter would heal fast. She had to. If the prophecies were accurate, she’d be the one to ride on the eye of the storm.
Cool! I’m getting Adam and Eve/Pandora’s Box vibes from this piece. Feels like a prologue to a longer work. (:
Team A
“There once was a forbidden garden. Guarded by an old troll with green, wrinkly skin. When the little children knocked, she would yell- you cannot come in!” Finn huffed and knocked over the troll he set up on the table and it went hurtling to the floor with a thump.
May, a tot with those cute, spiky, toddler-wisp pigtails on top of her head, bent down and picked up the doll, petting its head. Then she put it in her mouth.
Finn sighed.
“May, give me that back.” he said, holding out a hand.
May shook her head no and her mouth hardened into a pout.
“Mine.”
“No, it’s mine. I need something to be Old Lady Crandall.”
“Mine.”
His little sister could be so stubborn.
“Fine. You can play with it. See if I care.”
“Finley.” His mother’s admonishing, but gentle voice carried over from the kitchen where she was cooking. “Be nice to your sister. She’s little.”
“Okay.” He got down to May’s height. “Sorry I was mean.”
“It okay.” She gave Finn a hug and he hugged her back. He couldn’t be cross at her for long. May didn’t understand his frustrations.
His mother set their pasta dinner on the table and Finn was asked to clear up his creation to make room for his plate. He did- tearing down the Lego fence and removing the dandelions he’d placed to represent the neighbour’s flower garden.
He gathered those in his hands.
“You can have them.” he said, and his mother, a slender blonde woman, set his plate on the table, picked up his sister and settled her into her high chair, and then accepted them.
Pasta was good, like usual. Finn liked it very much. What he didn’t like was the way Old Lady Crandall had looked at him as he walked past this morning on his way to school. He always stopped by her fences and always stood on his tippy toes to peek over the fence into her garden. It was real lovely in there- roses and buttercups, stone walkways, even a pond.
He liked the pond, with its splashy fountain and huge koi. He’d sometimes see frogs over the fence too. Most often, he saw Old Lady Crandall. She looked like a prune and she had a voice that scratched when she yelled. She yelled whenever she caught him watching her. She made Finn feel worse than dirt or an ant on the road.
“Finley, what’s wrong? You seem upset.”
“Sorry.”
His mom smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay to have feelings.” she said with a smile.
“Old Lad- Mrs. Crandall hates me. Today she forbid me when I asked to see her fish and garden.” Tears began to spill over, so his mother reached for her napkin and began to dab at his face, cradling him close.
“Maybe I should talk to her.”
“No.” He pleaded with his eyes. “She’ll be more mean when I walk past to school.”
“We’ll see about that. How about we go talk to her together?”
“I don’t know.”
“Some people are mean for lots of reasons. You got upset at May because you were having a bad day. Maybe she’s feeling bad because of her day.”
“Or years.” Finn muttered, a bitter note seeping into his little voice.
His mother patted his head and then directed him to eat his dinner.
The next day was a Saturday, and Finn wasn’t going to school. He was almost glad because he wouldn’t have to see Old Lady Crandall again, but then he remembered Mom’s words. Yes, they were going to see her and talk to her. Big gulp.
He put on one of his Sunday shirts just in case, and brushed his hair real nice. If she thought he was a good boy, could he see the fish?
Only one way to find out.
Finn put on a determined gaze and waved good-bye to his Dad and little sister May. Then he took his mother’s hand and they both walked down the street. Finn’s mom had a soft, warm hand, and a basket of cookies in the other. She said cookies could help anyone remember their manners, and Finn believed her. Unless some people were too cranky for cookies.
His breath hitched as they came into sight of her house, and he had a vivid picture in his head of her scowling face, but she wasn’t in the forbidden garden today.
She must be home.
Finn and his mom came up the driveway beside her car. She was home. Finn gripped his mom’s hand tighter and hid behind her once they were on the doorstep.
The doorbell chimed a beautiful sound, like church bells. What Finn was worried about was the shrill noise that would remind him he was a terrible boy. So, when the door began to open, he wished he was invisible and shut his eyes too, hoping it would work.
“Hello, Mrs. Crandall.” His mother said.
“Cheryl. Your boy’s been trying to ruin my flowers.” She said, fixing Mom and the cookies with a harsh stare that made Finn quake in his sneakers.
“I thought Finn could explain himself if you’d give him a moment.” Mom said, holding out the basket of cookies.
The old lady took them.
“Fine. Speak up, young man. Yes, I see you there.”
Finn stepped out from behind his mother. His eyes threatened to fill with tears.
“I like your garden- I wanted to visit.” He said, and then the tears came.
“Oh. Oh.” The old lady almost dropped the cookies, but managed to bend down a little, so she was looking into Finn’s face.
“You really should have just asked.” She said. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were one of the boys who threw toilet paper at my house last Halloween.”
Finn looked up into the old lady’s face and wiped away his tears.
“It’s okay.” he said.
Then they walked into the garden together.