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.”
Violets at hte edge of the road
Team1
We knew we weren’t supposed to climb the old stone wall into Lord Moorhead’s gardens. But the ivy-covered rocks called out to us, while the forgotten apple trees begged to be climbed, and their abandoned fruits tasted.
The first time I climbed the crumbling edifice, my heart beat so loud I didn’t hear Drew give me the all clear. I stood on the soft loamy earth, eyes squeezed shut, waiting to be ripped apart by dogs, before Drew dropped loudly beside me and started to laugh at my terrified face. We climbed the neglected trees, tasting the most delicious apples in the world.
After that, Drew and I made regular trips into the forbidden garden. We began to get lazy and thought ourselves so clever. That was our first mistake, the second was ignoring the violets. It was mid-September when Drew and I went over for the hundredth time, and just before crossing over, I noticed a small patch of violets at the very edge of the wall.
When I landed next to Drew, things in the garden were different. The air, always cooler in the shade, was now frigid. I looked up to see that the apples on this side were old and withered, while those on the other side of the stones were still perfect red orbs. “Drew. Drew, I think we should leave.” I said, tugging at his shirt.
“Nah. This is too cool. It’s wild. Do you see the pond over there? Looks frozen. Let’s go see.” He said, creeping forward.
We never ventured past the old orchard, and I didn’t want to push our luck.
“Drew. DREW!” I whispered as loudly as I dared, my breath making small clouds in the frosty air. “Come on, something’s not right.”
He laughed and started across the lawn with its vast landscaping. I had only seen a glimpse of the old manor before, but as the trees cleared, I got my first good look at the enormous house. It was a gigantic sprawling 18th-century gray building with at least a dozen outer houses. There was a massive stair tiered patio with stone planters taller than a man at either side and two great stone lions at the end frozen at attention, forever guarding the empty mansion.
Drew walked boldly across the yard; his path marked by footprints in the frost. I tried to stay hidden in the trees, watching him and the house. It happened too fast for me to see clearly, though I play the scene over and over in my mind. One minute, Drew was walking alone towards the pond. Next, a boy pushed him through the thin ice. Where had he come from? Drew screamed and flailed before realizing the water was only up to his knees. He stood dripping and fuming as the boy started to laugh.
It was a cruel, hateful laugh that filled the silence of the frozen garden. Drew took a swing at the boy, but he dodged and kept laughing. Drew began to get out of the water. The boy moved to block his path. He was dressed oddly in woolen pants and a button-down shirt unbuttoned at the top; not the jeans and t-shirts that were the unofficial uniform of all the boys in the village. He pushed Drew again, this time deeper. The freezing water was now up to Drew’s waist, and the boy stayed dry.
Drew took another swing at the boy, only to have him push him a third time. Drew was shivering in water nearly up to his chest. The blond-headed boy just laughed again and said something only Drew could hear. He went to push Drew again, and I called out, “Leave him alone!”
That was when the boy turned to me, seeing me for the first time. His face would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been so contorted. The eyes, deep blue and filled with malice, scared me to my soul. I tried to move, but I felt frozen in place.
The boy lunged towards Drew, pressing him down in the pond. I watched as Drew flailed, reaching for the boy’s hands. The water splashed and rippled where he went under. I screamed again, but he ignored me and pressed harder on Drew. I finally found the courage to run across the lawn, punching and kicking at the boy, but hitting only air. I gave up and dove into the freezing waters, reaching for Drew.
Slime stuck to me as I grabbed Drew by his belt and pulled with all my might towards the surface. Drew was a full head taller and twenty pounds heavier, but terror gave me strength, and we quickly reached the edge of the pond.
The world changed, the air was warm again, the trees green, and in place of the terrible boy stood an angry old man screaming at us. “What are you boys doing here?”
“Where did he go?” I answered in a panic.
“What are you talking about? Get out of her, you hooligans.” He screamed.
Drew coughed and retched while I helped pull him to his feet. “The blond boy. Tall, Blue eyes. Evil!”
Terror crossed the old man’s face, and I heard him whisper “Adolphus” before he regained his composure and returned to screaming at us to get out.
I wrenched Drew to standing, and we ran towards the wall. Pushing him over, I fell hard on the dry-packed earth on the other side. We sat, breathing hard. Drew’s wet shirt clinging to his chest, the color returning to his lips. Minutes passed in silence, then Drew started laughing, a deep belly laugh that was catching.
We never talked about that day, nor did we ever return to the garden. I heard the old man died several months later and was buried on the grounds. I think about it sometimes, when I’m walking and see violets on the side of the road, warning me to stay on my side of the wall.
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.