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.”
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 😊
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.