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.”
Kathy Saunders
Team A
Whispers in the Poisoned Garden
PeiSua stood small against the looming stones of the garden.
“Why is it forbidden, Emee?” she whispered.
QiaYua’s fingers played with the fringe of her alchuuraa. A spark of defiance crossed her face. “Cursed,” she rasped. “They say no good can ever bloom from that place, child.”
QiaYua’s gaze drifted towards the towering, vine-choked gates, their ironwork twisted into grotesque shapes. “Generations ago, the ezee (lord), a cruel and ambitious khan, sought to create a garden unlike any other. He filled it with plants from every corner of the world, some whispered to have… yer busyn shinj chanaruud (unusual properties). He cared only for their beauty and power, not for the balance of nature.”
“What happened?” PeiSua’s voice was barely a whisper.
“The garden flourished, but at a cost. The land grew twisted, the vines thick with unnatural energies. The ezee became obsessed, isolating himself within these walls. Some say he made alliances with… things he shouldn’t have. When he finally died, the garden was sealed, a testament to his vanity.” QiaYua paused, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “They say his spirit still lingers here, bound to the garden.”
Despite the fear, PeiSua felt a strange pull towards the overgrown gates. A sense of sorrow and longing mingled with the sweet, cloying scent of unseen blooms “But… the plants,” she whispered. “What happened to them?”
“They are still there,” QiaYua said, her voice grim. “Changed. Twisted, like the land itself. Some are said to possess strange powers, to heal or to harm, depending on their nature… and the intention of the one who wields them.”
PeiSua’s curiosity was in dangerous bloom, pounding in her chest. She had always drawn to plants. The idea of a garden filled with such plants and magic was both terrifying and irresistible.
As the days passed, PeiSua found herself dreaming about the garden. She sat by the crumbling wall, tracing the shapes of the ironwork with her fingers, imagining the wonders within. QiaYua’s warnings echoed in her thoughts, but the pull of the garden was stronger.
On the night of the full moon with the moon hanging heavy in the sky, casting long, eerie shadows, PeiSua made her decision. She had to see this garden for herself.
Slipping away from her emee, she made her way to the garden wall. Finding a section where the stones were loose and worn she pulled the vines free, creating an opening small enough for her body to pass through.
As PeiSua stepped through the opening, waves of excitement washed over her. The air in the garden was heavy; the silence was deafening.
She was met with a sweet and decaying scents, a myriad of colors, a feeling of ancient, raw power. The garden was nothing like she had imagined. It was a place of wild beauty.
Towering blue spruce trees and bird cherries with mushrooms cast a glow in the moonlight, showing more strange plants. Blooms of every color grew; petals shimmered; vines twisted and writhed, their tendrils reaching out like hands.
In the center of the garden PeiSua saw a pool of water. The surface was as black as polished obsidian and around it grew North China red elder bushes. PeiSua always felt drawn to them, and now, an irresistible urge to touch them.
“Who dares to trespass in my tsetserleg (garden)?” The voice was cold.
PeiSua froze. She searched for the voice. She was afraid now.
Slowly, PeiSua turned towards the pool. A figure came from the shadows. It was a man. No, a ghost of a man. His form flowed and shifted, his eyes glowed with the same light as the moon.
“I… I came to see the garden,” PeiSua trembed. “I meant no harm.”
The figure drifted closer, his gaze piercing. “Harm? You seek to steal the garden’s secrets, to take its power. Like all the others.”
“The others? No!” PeiSua cried. “I only wanted to understand. I feel… a connection to this place.”
The figure paused. “A connection? You?”
PeiSua stepped forward. Her fear was replaced by a sense of determination. “I am PeiSua. My emee is QuiYua. She brought me here. I don’t want to take anything. I want to help.”
The figure was silent for a long moment, his glowing eyes fixed on PeiSua. Then, slowly, his form faded back into the shadows.
“Help…No one can help me.”
The wind rustled the dead leaves. “
And then, he was gone.
PeiSua stood alone in the silence.
She knew that she couldn’t leave this place. The garden, and the trapped spirit of its ezee needed her.
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.