Calling all creative writers! This is a column run by Nathaniel Lee to inspire readers to become writers. The column includes writing prompts, pieces by the coordinators, and occasional submissions from readers.
This month: a poem from Riley Barta and short stories from Averie Black and Nathaniel Lee
Below is a set of prompts for different styles of writing beyond journalism. The idea is that you can create some kind of creative writing piece inspired by one of the prompts, but it doesn't have to be. You can submit any piece of writing you would like to share! All submissions should be school-appropriate. You can also suggest prompts to be featured in the next issue.
Here are some prompts to get you started. They can be used for anything, though some specify poetry or short stories. This month, the prompt theme is Betrayal.
1. Write about a backstabbing (literal or metaphorical) gone wrong.
2. Start your story with an unexpected betrayal.
3. Set your story at a tense event where everyone is unsure whose side they are on.
4. Write about someone who is convinced they are going to be betrayed.
5. Several people are stuck in a lighthouse for a week due to a fierce storm. What happens when they realize the ancient building holds unlimited power—for one of them?
If you have any prompt ideas in mind that you haven't seen on here yet or would like to see someone else respond to, then drop them in the Google Form below and I will try to get them in the next issue! I sometimes don't see the response until after the issue is published, so I am sorry if it takes a couple of months.
My warmth lights your passions
Would you ever attempt to meet me?
Even looking at my face
causes you to fall from grace.
Perhaps you’ll make wings of steel instead of wax
Your praise barely moves me
Is that why you’ve hidden where I can be seen?
Helios and Apollos,
made prophets out of my glory.
Yet you, Icarus, merely wish to meet me
Is it curiosity or hubris that drives you?
Cash Money
They say the trees whisper. The softest breeze across a quiet forest is the mother tongue of the universe, spreading ancient tales through its roots.
Legend says there was once a man who spoke to the Earth, spending weeks meditating, listening, waiting for the trees to whisper tales of old. When the man emerged, he brought with him a new fable, speaking of a great savior who would soon walk the Earth. Someone who will strike fear in the darkest shadows, someone who can speak the language of the universe, someone who believes this once tranquil world is worth saving. But no one believes the deaf girl, who spends her day's ear to the ground listening to the hum of the universe when she says the trees chatter.
Even though it was not quite hearing and not quite speaking, the two beings seemed to understand each other just fine. The girl would feel the wind on her face and grass creep against her ankles. She would breathe in the sweet, yet irritating, scent of the newly bloomed wildflowers, and wander along the beaten dirt paths. She’d loop around clusters of trees and ferns feeling a heartbeat beneath the soles of her feet.
Today, she was a couple of yards west of the river. Although she preferred to travel to the less abundant and more elusive spring a few miles out, the river was much closer, and she was told to make quick work of it. The Sun shined through the swaying branches of deciduous trees, creating spots of light on the beaten forest path. Small beads of sweat formed on the back of her neck, cooling down the humidity of the day’s journey.
The girl approached the top of a short drop-off that led into Spring Valley. She quickly untied the long, molded rope from around her waist and gathered up the bucket that had been dragging behind her. Her father often referred to the bucket as her bell. Apparently, dragging it behind her caused a loud clanging sound that alerted everything within a mile that she was coming down the path. Terrible for hunting. When she looked down the hill, there was a queasiness in her stomach warning against clumsy feet or sneaking highwaymen but, every time she glanced over her shoulder, there was nothing but air. The girl tightly knotted the rope around a tree branch and threw the bucket down, hoping the sound might warn others of her presence. The bucket ricocheted off of one of the thick, horizontally growing trees and the sight made her cringe.
She lowered herself down to the first tree, jutting from the cliff side. Then, like a panther, she leaped from tree to tree, gripping her leather-wrapped feet on the rough bark to steady her balance, and hoisting herself down to the next level. Eighteen years of traveling the same route prepared her well for the trip. When she reached the last tree, the girl swung her body down and hung from her fingertips, clawing into the grooves of the bark. She stretched her body out and fell the last couple of feet to the ground.
“You know, you shouldn’t make a habit of fetching water at the hottest time of day, Nin,” Rose said, holding the dented bucket and using her fist to punch out the imperfection. “It’s bad for your skin.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Nin’s mouth despite Rose’s comment, “You mean it's bad for your skin. You could get burnt during a rainstorm. I, however, am just fine.” She raised her eyebrows and signed each word in a flourished motion.
Rose’s nose scrunched up and her chest rose and fell quickly— she was pouting, but Nin wasn’t wrong. The first time the girls had met, Nin thought her parents had been extremely on the nose while naming her, but if someone wanted to name their child after her fiery, ginger hair, who was she to judge? Rose’s hair reached above her shoulders with just enough length to shade the back of her neck. A few odd freckles splotched her face and arms like tiny oranges splattered in a milky river, and her blue eyes seemed to reflect whatever was in front of them. At least, that's what Nin had noticed during their first official meeting.
A few years ago, Rose’s family moved into Divination Wood. Nin had watched silently as Rose’s mother herded two toddlers and a young girl out of the rain. Nin wasn’t exactly hidden, but the family’s wide, pale eyes seemed to skim past her. Rose’s father scampered to move bags from their wagon into the moss-covered cabin riddled with decay. The house had remained vacant for all of Nin’s life and, for most of it, she had been too scared of the spirits to get close. Her father told her that there once was another family that had lived there but, one day as he was passing by, they were simply gone. Nin’s father insisted their sudden departure was a result of a family emergency, but Nin never liked those kinds of grounded explanations. As the wagon took off down the beaten dirt road, the door of the cabin slammed shut. Nin stood ostracized in the rain, feeling a pulse of anxiety ringing from the house through her body. It was a few days later that Rose and Nin had been formally introduced.
It was hard to imagine that the proud woman standing in front of her was the same scared child being shepherded into that creaky old house, yet, there she was. Rose never liked to talk about her life before they moved to the forest, so Nin never asked. It was easier to ignore at first since they couldn’t communicate well but, as their friendship grew, so did Nin’s curiosity.
Nin took the bucket from Rose’s hands and slipped down the muddy slope into the river. The water was strikingly cold, but she kept wading in until she was thigh-deep. The other girl kept her balance at the bank, dipping dirty shirts and socks in the water, the soap polluting the creek with suds.
Nin got Rose’s attention with a sharp whistle and grinned, “You know the freshest water is in the middle. If you keep drinking the same water you wash clothes with, you're going to end up drinking soap.” As she spoke, Nin felt her vocal cords vibrating in her throat.
"Well, at least I don't go home smelling like a wet dog,” the other signed back.
Nin shrugged and cupped the clean water in her hands, first wetting her face and, second, taking hearty gulps to clear the dust from her throat. She dipped the bucket into the creek, allowing it to fill to its full capacity. Holding it with two hands, she sloshed her way back to shore and threw herself up the bank.
“And that is why I stay here,” Rose said with disgust, gesturing to Nin’s muddy trousers and exasperated look, then back to her own clean, silk dress embroidered with flowers along the hem.
Nin shot a scowl at Rose before giving a two-fingered salute and approaching the bottom of the drop-off. She gripped the soggy rope and carefully threw it up to the highest branch she could find. It took a couple of tries before she was able to loop it around but, eventually, she got it. Nin set the bucket down and began pulling the rope steadily, watching the bucket rise and cringing whenever the sway lost water. It was easy enough to keep the rope tight with her foot while rolling their designated ‘holding stone’ on top to hold it steady. Nin thought there must have been an easier way to do this.
Once she got to the top, she pulled the bucket free and used the rope to harness it to herself. Nin always dreaded this part of the journey to fetch water. She struggled back along the dirt path. Nin longed to stray from it, but the bucket's weight dragged her down and forced her to stay on task.
She passed the log that looked like a dragon’s head—ten more minutes until she was home. Nin imagined how nice it would be to live in the flatlands. No tripping on roots or stumbling down hills, being able to see as far as the eye could see. It seemed so much more rewarding when traveling from place to place, and being able to see your destination approaching with every step. Instead, the trees, ferns, and hanging moss blocked Nin’s view and she had to rely on pure instinct to find her through the forest.
Suddenly, Nin was reminded why she loved the Divination Wood. A strong breeze came from behind, as the hair on her neck stood in alert. Beneath her feet, thrumming pulses sent warnings to the back of her heels. Nin whipped around just in time to see a man with a black handkerchief tied around his face approaching on horseback- a highwayman. Her heart raced as she tried to clammer off the trail, but he had already spotted her.
The handkerchief around his mouth flapped with his words, and he drew a light crossbow from his side. Nin didn’t know what the man had said but, from all of the stories her father had told her, she assumed it was “Stand and deliver.”
She quivered and raised her hands. Nin didn’t have any valuables on her, but that's certainly what the man wanted of her. The bucket was made of simple tin, her clothes were all cotton and linen, and no jewels hung from her neck. The girl questioned why he was out this far. It was not a popular road and hardly any carriages passed through. Why would he expect her to have anything worth taking?
Nin slowly reached into her pockets and pulled them out, and an acorn tumbled from her pocket onto the forest floor. The man glared and the handkerchief once again moved around his lips as he spoke. She bit her lip, trying not to anger him, and tapped her ears. His brows scrunched with confusion, then understanding. The gray horse pawed the ground, taking a few more anxious steps toward Nin.
I didn't see Sophie the next day. Or the next. Or the next. At first, I thought maybe she was just sick but, after a week of silence, I knew something was wrong. I knocked on the door to her house but got no answer.
Maybe her parents are just at work, I thought to myself.
On my way home from work on Saturday, I decided that I was going to get into her house, even if no one answered the door. When I knocked, there was no response.
Shocker.
I walked around to the side of the house. Her family always left a spare key under the doormat, but I'd checked earlier in the week and it wasn't there. Sophie's window faced mine, separated only by a fence and a small stretch of grass. A sturdy, ivy-covered lattice was against the wall below her window. There had been times when we'd get back from exploring the city and I'd watch from my window as she scaled the lattice easily.
Steeling myself, I set one foot in the first foothold and began climbing. Now that I was actually on it, it didn't seem sturdy at all. I worried that one wrong move would send me crashing to the ground and undoubtedly alert my parents and the other neighbors.
It took me much longer than it should've to reach the window, but I eventually made it up. She told me many times that she always left her window unlocked, but that information had never been needed until now. Luckily, it was still true.
I slid the window up and clambered through. In all the time we'd been friends, I'd never been in her room. It was perfectly clean, a big surprise to me since she always seemed so scatterbrained and spontaneous. I was expecting unfinished projects covering every available space. The only thing out of place was a small slip of paper on the floor, something I probably knocked off of the windowsill as I awkwardly tumbled through. I picked up the paper and unfolded it.
Check the nightstand
Her nightstand had nothing on top, but another piece of paper was in the small drawer.
Closet door
I checked the door to her closet for five minutes but found nothing. Eventually, I sat on the floor in her closet with the door closed, wallowing in my own defeat. I stood and opened the door. With that new angle and lighting, I was able to see words carved into the wood.
Under my bed
Rolling under her bed, I realized how strange this would look if her parents came in. I used my phone for a flashlight and found another paper taped to the bottom of the bed. I grabbed it and got out from under the bed.
If you really know me, look in my favorite place
I almost gave up at that point. I'd never been in her room before, so how could I find her favorite place? I crumpled up the paper and tossed it at the window. That's when I remembered a conversation we'd had several weeks ago.
We were sitting on top of her house. Technically, her parents had told us to stop going up there back when we were in fifth grade, but it's not like they were going to climb up and stop us.
"This is my favorite place to go," she'd said. "Remember that, okay? I'll come up here and watch the sunset, or I'll look over and see you through the window panicking over your homework. I feel like I can see everything that matters in life. It's nice to slip away from reality for a little bit. This is my favorite place. My room sucks, to tell you the truth. Honestly, I've spent more nights out exploring with you or sitting on the roof than I've spent in my bed."
"That explains the dark circles under your eyes," I joked.
She smiled sadly. "Don't tease me like that. You don't sleep much either."
"Sophie Maria Henderson, come inside right now!" Her mom stuck her head out the window to yell at us.
"I should probably head in before she tries to climb up and falls. Don't forget that this is my favorite place."
She'd seemed so insistent that I knew that it was her favorite place, but it hadn't really registered as important information until now.
I almost fell twice as I climbed up onto the roof, but I made it. Nothing seemed different, but I kept searching. I found the final paper wrapped around the television antennae. It was painted the same shade of gray as the metal, which made it even harder to see.
So, you understood my clues. I really hoped that this would never happen, but unfortunately it did. Something happened and you had to sneak into my room. I know it's disappointing, but that's not important. I don't know if we'll see each other again, but do me a favor.
I froze as I read the final two lines.
Visit Niagara Falls for me. Find my roots -Sophie
When I say I jumped off of that roof, I mean I probably should've broken some bones. There were indentations in the ground where I landed. I ran to my car and started driving. I didn't know how to get to Niagara Falls from there, but I eventually pulled over and pulled it up on my phone.
I called my parents, but they were both at work and didn't pick up. The message I left would probably get me grounded for years when I got back. Who cares? I was eighteen anyway.
I drove until I felt like I would fall asleep, then stopped at a sketchy motel. In the morning, I woke up with the sun and kept driving. My parents called several times but I ignored it. I stopped throughout the day as needed, but drove as much as I could.
Finally, on the third day of traveling, I made it to Niagara Falls.
It was breathtaking to see the cascading water falling down. I hoped that there would be some clue telling me what to do next, maybe written in the sky by a plane. Unfortunately, the sky was cloudy, and there were no clues to be found.
Visit Niagara Falls for me.
There would be no more clues. She wasn't going to meet me here. I was doing this in her memory. Tears rolled down my face as I realized this. I would never see my best friend again.
As I stood there crying, someone put a blanket around my shoulders in an attempt to keep me warm from the chilling mist.
"Looks like you listened to me," the person said.
I spun around to face them, my face lighting up when I recognized the face.
"Sophie!" I hugged her tightly, swearing to never let go.
"I can't breathe," she wheezed.
I set her down and wiped my eyes. "Where have you been?"
"Here. The felony I talked about? I never ended up doing it because I got intercepted by the cops on the way there. Turns out my parents squealed on me, even though the whole thing was their job in the first place."
"Hold up. What?"
"Right," she said. "You don't know. My parents work for a secret division of the government, but they're 'getting on in years' and so they have me do most of their work. This time I snuck into their office and saw an easy mission. My dad caught me, but I told him I hadn't seen anything. Clearly, he didn't believe me."
"What happened?"
Sophie led me away from the crowds. "They told the police to have extra patrols around the place where I was headed."
"Which was where exactly?" I asked.
"That's classified. I don't plan on going back to my family any time soon, but HIPPA and all that jazz. Anyway, I told you to come here because my plan was to sneak here when I was done."
"Why Niagara Falls, of all places?"
"I've always dreamed of coming here with my family ever since I was a little kid. I heard stories about native tribes who used to live here and, after a little bit of research, I discovered that I was directly descended from them. My belief is that these are my roots. My family is from here. Such a pretty place, to be honest."
I nodded. "It really is."
"My family will never come here with me," she said. "I knew that would never happen. I still hoped that I could come here with someone who mattered to me. Eventually, I realized that someone was you."
"Me?"
"You. Jack, you're my best friend. My family isn't the thing that keeps me grounded. It's you. You are my roots.
