Attention, creative writers! Every month, Creative Corner hosts a contest for the highlighted writer of the month! Submit your writing to Creative Corner and you will be immediately entered to win a journal. Congratulations to last month's winner, Mary Ann!
This month: "Down Love" by JJ N, "Finding Destiny" by KimberLynn P, "The Ghost of Cape May" by Melanie C
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.
December is the month of coziness and celebration. I would love to hear some prompts about this time of year.
You might choose to write about:
Write a creative story about a snowman or tell the story of a time you created a snowman.
Write a creative story or poem about the creation of snowflakes or about snowflakes in general.
Write a story that makes us feel cozy.
Write a storyline with an elf-like character.
Write about a mythical winter character.
“No…they can’t be doing that again. You said they stopped that years ago.” Mom sits down and signs to me, holding out a letter. I take it with my shaking hands.
You are annually invited to Peacock's event.
Jayla Woodlock: age 17
Event includes the hunt for suitable women for Princes Faylen and Davien
You are required to come for a month max and go through trials each week,
slowly cutting down the amount of women.
A carriage will arrive at noon tomorrow.
-King of Bevians
I slowly shake my head and look at Mom. “Why did I get picked?” I say, not understanding.
“They pick known beautiful girls ages 17-18.” Mom looks up at me. “The pastor put you in our village's list.”
I gasp and want to scream that this is unfair. Even if a prince doesn't pick me, dukes from the kingdoms will be there to pick girls for themselves as concubines. Even a prince might pick a few concubines. “Mom, be honest. Do you think they will notice me?” I say. My breathing is uneven. I hear footsteps coming toward me. Mom lifts my chin with tears in her eyes.
“I think so...” Her lip shakes as she speaks.
I pull away and go toward our cracked mirror. My dark-blue, cat-like eyes look back at me. My wavy brown hair frames my face. I look down at my hand that has never seen the hard work as a farmer. My mother is a tailor, so she gets paid well and I don't need to work yet. I realize maybe my beauty is a curse. One that I will have no matter what. People will see my body and not me. They will stare and smile but not talk, not loving me for me.
A knock on the door follows the next afternoon. Mother just finished fitting my nicest dress on me. A plain light blue with soft white on the dress.
“I am here on orders of Kingdom Bevian and Lexain to receive Lady Jayla,” I hear as I walk towards the door. My hair is pinned up in a braided crown. I nod and step outside with him.
“Jayla, please be safe.” I hear my mother's voice whisper behind me.
I turn my head, smiling and nodding slowly as the man opens the carriage door. I step in, picking up my dress so it does not drag behind me. As the door shuts behind me, I see my mother's sad face and my heart breaks for her. I sit down as the carriage starts moving. I know it will be a bumpy ride, but I will be at the palace in a few hours.
“M’lady?”
I look towards the door, realizing we have arrived. I put a smile on my face and nod. I take the man's hand as he helps me down and out of the carriage. He is rather tall and his old age shows on his face. Maybe he is in his 40s or 50s. Either way, he is gentle and quiet. I look up to see my view and my breath is taken away. Before me is the grand palace, making my house look like an ant. It reaches the sky with tall and pointy towers. It's wide and the buildings are separated into five, with the middle being a huge garden.
Shaeyla
Secrets. Papa always says secrets are the keys to all destruction. What do I do if revealing this one secret could not only cause all destruction but also reveal other secrets that I’ve had to keep deep down because Meema told me to never reveal them? When Meema died, I felt as if I would never be able to keep it by myself. So I did something very dangerous; I told my best friend Tasha. Meema said to never tell anyone, because even if you believe they won't tell anyone, it could still slip. An accident, or on purpose.
Meema died when I was seven. Leaving me all alone with this secret. It’s hard for a seven-year-old to keep a secret-- especially when you don’t understand the phrase “World destruction”. I truly trust Tasha with my life. She’s my best friend. Therefore, I have to tell her everything. Right? Mama once told me that secrets cause pain. She was right about the pain part. It's hard to sleep every night when you have a pondering question pounding in your head. Can I fulfill my destiny, and will I be making the right decision in doing what I have to do?
I sat up in bed, throwing my covers to the side, and glanced at my clock. Six-thirty? I slept in. Oh well. I know a lot of people don’t like to wake up early but, frankly, I enjoyed it. Not that I wasn’t interested in fussing with my hair or clothes. I never really paid any attention to my appearance. I didn’t really care. I looked around my room. It was surprisingly clean. Spotless, if you want to go that far. The only thing that had dust on it was Meema’s old wooden chest that sat in the corner of the room. Locked. I’ve never opened it because it felt wrong. Though I didn't want to, today felt like the right day to open it. Weird. I placed my feet on the cold hardwood floor, walking over to the chest.
I grabbed the key, which hung above the chest on a hook with a string strung on it. It wasn’t a very safe thing to do, but it didn’t really matter. There wasn’t anything valuable in the chest. Sliding the key into the keyhole and turning it, a soft click sounded from it, telling me it was unlocked. I lifted the lid, revealing the items inside. My gaze fell on a small box. I picked it up and opened it. Inside held a thin gold watch. Tears threatened to flow, but I blinked them away. Meema told me that the family member who received this watch received her blessing. To this day, I still don’t know what the blessing is. I gently placed the watch on my wrist and held it back from a distance and admired it.
The watch was beautiful, almost as beautiful as Meema, but beauty can’t match what was inside. I sifted through the objects in the chest: a compass, a notebook, some clothes and, lastly, a letter. I held it in my fingers, trembling, not wanting to open it, not wanting to see her handwriting. I didn’t want to read her wisdom right now.
I looked up at my clock again. Seven! I closed the chest and set the letter on my dresser, searching for clothes. I threw on whatever I could find and quickly ran a brush through my hair. I stopped at the door, looking at the letter. I shoved the letter in my dress pocket. I'll read it later. I started on the stairs where I could now hear Mama humming a tune and the sound of paper rustling, indicating Papa was reading the newspaper.
I made my way down the stairs as the scent of sausage wafted to my nose. I was two steps from the floor when Mama said, “Hey, Shay Bear, how did you sleep?”
“Restless.” The word that quickly became a routine part of my family's morning. Papa grunted while he kept reading his paper. I looked over at the calendar, and today's date was circled in red. My birthday. I hate birthdays. It wasn’t always like that. Before Meema died, she always made every birthday special. In all honesty, she was the best gift giver ever. I should be excited about this birthday. I turn eighteen today. I was an adult now! But that was scary.
I sat down at the table and lay my head down. “ You should get that checked out. Your sleeping schedule is unnatural,” Papa said, as he folded his paper up and placed it on the table. He grabbed his coffee cup and took a long slug before putting it down. I lifted my head, unaware of what time it was.
“Honey, you're going to be late for school,” Mama said over the noise of the sausage sizzling on the stove.
I looked over at the clock. She was right-- she always was-- unless it had anything to do with secrets. I grabbed my backpack and slipped my feet into my shoes, not bothering to put on socks. I grabbed a slice of toast and kissed Mama and Papa on their cheeks and slid out the door.
I always walked to school. I liked the sound of the birds chirping, the feeling of the soft breeze in my hair, and the perfectly warm sun on my face. All the oriental lilies were in full bloom. The daisies danced in the wind, and the butterflies swarmed the roses. Flowers became a huge part of my life very quickly after Meema died, especially Oriental Lilies. They were Meema’s favorite flower. They represent new birth and renewal. My new birth wasn’t as pretty.
Ten minutes later, I stepped into my class, worn out by the mile walk that I had just tackled. I plopped down into my seat and lay my head on the desk with a little more force than needed. Tasha leaned over: “Did you not sleep well again?” she asked and I nodded my head in answer. She nodded. “Is it what I think it is?” She asked another question. The same question she asked every day.
“What else would it be? It's always the one thing that I can never say,” I whispered. She looked at me with her spirited green eyes, showing deep concern. She understood how I felt. She didn't know what I was going through, but she understood.
I always envied the way Tasha looked. Her stark black curly hair bounced whenever she walked. Whenever she did anything with it, it was perfect. She had a perfectly symmetrical face and she stood at a stunning five-seven. Tasha was the most beautiful girl in school and, somehow, she chose me to be her best friend.
Today was the last day of school for the rest of my life. I have finally graduated and I'll never have to face another teacher. I wasn't planning on going to college, though my parents would be disappointed, as I was their only child. Being the last day, today was only a half day, but I still didn’t want to be here.
I stiffened when I heard it. Sirens. The worst sound imaginable-- my biggest fear. The horrible sounds of tires tearing at the pavement in my school's parking lot. Red and blue lights danced around my class's walls. I could hear the sound of radio signals clashing with one another. The sound of heavy footsteps down the hall. I felt heat rush to my face and my heartbeat sped to a thousand beats per minute. I looked over at Tasha, the look on her face said everything. She exposed me.
On impulse, I jumped out the open window. Luckily, my class was on the first floor, making it less of an impact, though I still did not land on my feet. I looked behind me. The smile on Tasha's face sent shivers down my spine. How could she? I turned away and tears threatened my eyes again. Don't cry. I wouldn't cry here, not ever. I ran.
I take a sharp breath of the bitter air repetitively. Leaves smash under my stiff boots. I nearly collapse as I take a breath, my torso lowered and my hands on my knees. I turn around for a millisecond, but I finally recognize my time is short as my new friend gets closer. I straighten up, my feet moving slower than my body. I can feel the liquid drip from my ankles inside my shoe, warm and hot. Well, warm. I suppose hot is a redundant adjective. My feet ache as I run from the horrific ghost in my home, as my life is threatened by its presence. Ok, not really… Sort of? Let me explain.
I rip my wired headphone out of my ear. My phone dies just as my favorite songs finally come on shuffle. I despise free Pandora. I have been looking forward to this one song by Taylor Swift playing on my playlist for over 30 minutes, and my charger is in my duffel in the bed of the truck. My ears are tortured with Pharrell Williams repetitively droning from the radio. My mother glances over into the backseat, where I lie, my blanket, pillow, and snacks sprawled out, occupying the entire row. She notices me toss my phone onto the floorboard. She lowers the music on the radio, turning the dial to 3.
“Phone dead?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. How she noticed my slight annoyance is beyond me. She’s been driving for 10 hours straight. She has to be indefatigable, because no normal person can do that and be so observant.
She keeps her face forward but offers, “Wanna stop for some coffee in town, or do you just wanna head straight to the house and make coffee there?”
I scoff with a smile. “Or we just go to bed?” I suggest. The time is already 6, far too late for coffee.
She shrugs, and she turns her abhorrent music back up. I groan silently, looking outside at the rain. I grab my book. This is gonna be a long two hours.
“Welcome to Cape May,” my mother announces.
I stare out the window at the flowers that surround the blue sign she reads. “Yay.” I feign excitement.
She frowns. “Don’t be like that. You never know, maybe you’ll like it here. They have the cutest little school, and all the shops are adorable,” she claims optimistically.
I nod politely. I highly doubt I’ll enjoy this place. While I’m sure the people are nice and all, it’s just so… small. As much as I despised the tiny apartment, I loved San Diego, but my mother's inheritance gave us a large home and some money to get us started here. I never liked the idea of a small town, but I know the larger space and better life thrill my mom. I sigh. My cat Pepe chimes in from his spot on the passenger seat with an agreeing meow.
Our little '09’ Toyota looks so out of place as we enter the dark driveway of this large and fancy family home. It’s a far cry from our 300-square-foot apartment in San Diego. If there’s one thing I’ll enjoy about living here, it’s the fact that I have my own bedroom nearly the size of our old house. I grab my backpack, which holds my outdated laptop, some books, and snacks as I exit my mother’s car, and grab my duffel that has my clothes and toiletries. I enter my grandmother’s empty home, opening the white framed door. The colonial-style architecture is surprising to me. This building must be older than the actual town. Or at least, the original design. I see some fresh-looking white paint and newer clear glass in the windows that can’t be more than 5 years old, as well as a satellite on the roof. I open the door and enter the main family space to see a large modern TV, as well as a little router tucked inside a massive bookcase. This home has clearly been around for centuries but has been updated and cleaned up accordingly with the times.
My mother walks in with two duffels. We both head upstairs. She chose the largest of the masters, and while I was considering the room downstairs with a tall window and a large bookshelf near the study, I eventually decided on the slightly smaller one with an en suite across from her door. Pepe follows me in, and I set him up on a raggedy blanket and a pillow from the closet. I’m glad I chose this one because, while the initial room itself is small, there is a bay window, a walk-in closet, and a small en suite. I move around, setting up my belongings; I set my clothes in the closet, decorations on the wall, toiletries in the bathroom, and books on the desk. However, even with all my stuff unpacked, it still looks empty. My mom enters and glances around. I plop down onto my new large queen-size bed.
“We should take you to Target or Home Goods and pick you up some stuff, make it look more yours," she suggests.
I glance at her. “No, that’s alright,” I say.
“You sure?” she says with concern.
I reply, “Yeah, I’ll be fine, at least for a little while. Maybe after we’ve gotten settled. Thank you, though.”
“Alright then.” She heads out.
I plug in my phone, get into P.J.s, pull my hair up, brush my teeth, wash my face, and then lie back down on my bed.
I hear my old morning alarm go off. It’s Monday, and I forgot to turn off my weekday alarms. It’s 5 in the morning, and I rub the sleep from my eyes as I stand up to turn it off. I walk to the outlet and press the off button. I get back in my bed, but it’s no use. I get back up and make my bed meticulously. I tuck in the faded yellow covers carefully. I walk to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, and I let my hair loose, scrunching some water into the dark curls. I take my phone downstairs with me. I grab a large hoodie and a blanket, tossing the blanket over my shoulder as I make some coffee in the kitchen.
I take my mug into the back patio, curled in a blanket, enjoying the crisp and chilly air that turns my nose pink. I look out at the trees, questioning why I came out here so early. It’s far too early for a good East Coast sunrise. I stay outside, nonetheless. I spend this time thinking about this new home, and my social life once I start school here. I guess this is sorta a fresh start. I’ll be a weird girl from the West Coast, but at least I have a chance to start things off right. I’m a little nervous about the tiny school, though; it’s far easier to come off as weird and have people vilify you in a smaller school. Not that I wasn’t frequently ostracized by the more well-off girls in my school. I spent so much time focusing on academics to avoid these issues. I learned to keep my head in my homework rather than other people's business fairly quickly.
I lean back, my head in the clouds. Just as a hint of light shows on the horizon, I see a faint figure in the distance. I attempt to look closer, but all I see from 70 yards away is a blur of white and long black hair. As soon as I noticed it, it was gone. I stand up. I hear a whisper of air behind me, but when I turn around, all I see is Pepe. I was not even aware he’d gone outside with me. “Uh uh, inside,” I tell him. I pick him up, and he meows in protest, but allows me to take him into the living room anyway. To be frank, I’m still spooked, so I choose to sit at the dining table by the glass door and watch the sunrise there.
At around 9, my mother wakes up.
“Good morning,” she mumbles, glancing at me, reading the book I started in the car. “How long have you been up?” she asks.
“5. I forgot to turn off my alarms. It’s alright. I got to watch the sunrise,” I say. She’s an extremely superstitious person, so I choose not to propound the possibility of a strange lady being near us. It’s really not a big deal anyway; it was far away, and I may have been sleepy and imagining things. I decide to cautiously ask, “Hey, so the property about 70 yards east is ours, right?”
“I believe so, why?” she asks.
I shrug. “Just curious, I may have seen something out there, but it was pretty dark,” She nods, making some eggs on the stove.
Once we’ve finished breakfast, I head upstairs. I put on some darkwash jeans, a white lace tank top, and a black zip-up hoodie. I head into the bathroom briefly, putting on some mascara and lip gloss. As I zip up my brown boots, I notice how easy it is to get back into my routine, despite being so far away. I head downstairs. I see my mom filling out paperwork in her study. I give her a hug. “I’m heading out to explore everything,” I declare.
She smiles. “You wanna take the car?” she kindly offers.
I smile in return. “Sure, I’m not going very far,” I say.
“Bye, keys are by the door, be home by 6. I’m making your favorite for dinner!” She smiles.
“Wait, you’re making ravioli?” I ask in excitement.
“Nah, I just said that for fun,” she says with a wink.
I roll my eyes and snort. “Do you need me to pick up anything while I’m out?” I ask.
“Yeah, some ravioli and spaghetti sauce, I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping.” She turns to her papers again.
“Alrighty. Will do.” I grab the envelope labeled grocery money off the counter and hop in the driver's seat of the Toyota.
I take the highway to the little shops by the docks. I spend the day visiting a few, but don’t find anything worth my money. Having a couple of extra bucks in my pocket, I decide to stop at this little bookstore, named “Need Reads”. I walk in and smile at the elderly man at the register. I walk in further, looking at the historical fiction section. I enjoy the atmosphere as I scan the various (albeit poorly stocked) books. I then hear the jingle of the door.
A girl who looks around the same age, if not a bit younger, maybe 16, with long auburn waves, enters the shop. She’s wearing a short-sleeved green babydoll top that looks way too cold for this temperature, cargo pants, and big hiking boots. She looks like she walked off of one of those magazines at the salon. There’s no other way to describe her. She approaches the historical fiction section with a smile. “Hi. You find anything interesting here?” she asks.
“Hi,” I reply awkwardly.
“Not particularly. You live here?” I ask, immediately regretting it. What a dumb question. Obviously, this tiny town’s not exactly a tourist attraction.
“I think so,” she replies with amusement.
“Me too.” I raise my eyebrow. “Just moved, though I'm sure you’ve already figured that out by the fact you haven’t seen me in school. My name is Erin,” I manage to say finally.
She smiles. “Brooke. Nice to meet you,” she glances at me.
“Well, it’s getting late, and I need to pick up some stuff. See you at school?” I say. She nods. “Umm, bye,” I say.
“Bye-bye,” she smirks.
I head to my car, heading into town to get to the Grocery Outlet, using my navigation app to find the store. I enter, grabbing some of the basics. She texts me, asking me to pick up her weekly grocery list while I’m here. I text back a willing enough response and casually grab the basics: grains, meats, fruits, veggies, dairy, sauces, spices, etc. I enjoy the busy task to occupy my mind. Once everything is in the car, I drive home, not enjoying how it already seems to be getting dark.
I unload the groceries, and my mom smiles, opening the door and helping.
“You’re so sweet,” she notes, and I shake my head.
“I live and eat here too,” I reply. Once everything is unloaded, she cooks, and I read. Once the ravioli is done, we eat and discuss our days.
She glances at me. “You look like you had a good time,” she says.
I nod. “Yeah, I explored, went into a couple of shops, and I met one of my classmates, she seemed very affable,” I respond simply.
She nods. “That’s good.” Once we finish eating, I take care of the dishes, take a brief shower, letting the hot water relax me. I get ready for bed and watch t.v.
I doze off at around 8, watching a sitcom I have no interest in. At around midnight, I get up and turn off the television. Once the room is silent, I hear a scratching noise at the window, but Pepe is on his makeshift bed, full of dinner and fast asleep. I open my curtain, but nothing is there. I wonder if it’s the elusive lady from the trees this morning, or something even worse. I gather my courage, put on my boots, and head outside.
I look around, walking out back. I scan my environment, analyzing each tree, but nothing’s there again. I hear a whisper of wind to my left, and I look there. Nothing. I jump. The lady is a few feet behind me. She’s semi-transparent, with long black hair, and a white dressing gown.
“Greetings,” she says.
“Can I help you?” I ask cautiously, unsure if I should run.
“Indeed,” she replies.
I take a steadying breath. Okay, I’ll just do whatever she needs, then she’ll leave me alone. “How may I help you?” I ask steadily.
“My ring, which I had intended to wear upon my wedding day, lieth concealed within thy dwelling.” She points to the building.
I nod politely. “So your wedding ring is under the house?” I say. “That’s why you’re here?” I ask.
“Correct, I departed this life ere I had use of it, and through the passing years it hath gone astray; yet I believe it abideth within thy house,” she replies.
I glance at her distraught appearance. “And if I help you find it, you will leave me alone?” I ask.
She smiles. “Most certainly."
I nod. “I can help,” I reply. I begin to turn away, but I hear a screeching wail, and turn around to see that Pepe has bitten her. This is the moment I began to run.
