Calling all creative writers! This is a column run by Nathaniel Lee to inspire readers to write. The column includes writing prompts, pieces by the coordinators, and occasional submissions from readers.
This month: Short stories from Mia Bartscher, Casey Leigh, and Nathaniel Lee, and a poem by Cael Johnson.
Below are 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 inspire your writing this month! If you try one, let us know how it goes. :)
1. Write about a character who risks everything to pursue their heart’s desires.
2. Write about a character who’s never encountered a problem they couldn’t buy their way out of — until they do.
3. Write about someone seeking an oasis in a desert — whether literally, or figuratively.
4. Write a story where someone finds comfort in an unexpected event, place, or person.
5. Start your story with one character trying to convince another that they make the best grilled cheese in the world.
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, drop them in the Google Form below and they will be listed in the next issue!
At the end of Magnolia Street, there stood a house. It watched over the neighborhood…or it had, when there was a neighborhood to be watched. In the Before. Now there was only emptiness, dead grass and crows where there used to be families and dreams. But the house was no longer the same, either. The house felt it when people strengthened its walls, altered the rooms and the hallways. The fundamental use for the house had changed.
In front of this house were two people. A man and a young girl. They stood, looking up at the house in heavy silence. For the girl, the silence held the knowledge that whatever was coming, it would intrinsically change her. For the man, it held hope. Hope that this one was the One.
The house observed it all. It knew of the man’s hope, of his doubt and his fear at what was to come. It felt his guilt, buried deep where he could no longer feel it, under a wall of “do what needs to be done” and of “it’s for the greater good.”
It also understood the girl, her willingness to risk it all to help the ones she loved. It knew her bravery and her fear. It admired her. It wished her luck.
The man looked down at the girl and put his hand on her shoulder. Looking up at him, the girl nodded once at the man and stepped forward. She walked up to the door and put her hand on the knob. The girl paused, straightening her spine and taking a deep breath. She pushed open the door and looked down the dark hallway.
The girl stepped forward into the house, the door creaking shut behind her, and was plunged into darkness.
The house was aware of her, making her way through the dark halls, and of the man, walking around the outside to the back entrance, dread weighing down his feet.
The girl had reached the first challenge. It would test her resourcefulness, her ingenuity, but if she failed…the trials were not forgiving.
She must not fail.
The man waited outside, standing still and straining to hear anything, until a blood-curdling scream made him flinch. The second trial.
Trial after trial, the girl fought and persisted until, at last, the final challenge. The last hurdle. The end was near, so near that the man, outside, could see her shadow moving through the crack under the door. He dared to hope.
All of a sudden, a shout, and a thud. The man waited with bated breath for the door to open. The seconds crawled into minutes. As the minutes passed, the man lost more and more of his hope until he eventually gave up.
He sighed, grief holding his feet in place. Another one lost. As he started to step away from the house, he heard a creak. He froze, looking back, and there, in the doorway, was the girl.
Battered, bruised, but standing nonetheless.
She was the One.
The house smiled. Its job was done.
“Sky, I really think you shouldn’t go through with this,” I said desperately.
Sky stopped texting and looked at him, “You can’t control my life, I’ll do what I please.”
“Seriously, going on a date with that guy is a horrible decision. You’ve known him for a week!”
“That’s plenty of time.”
I stared at her, “It really isn’t.”
Sky whirled around and looked at me, anger in her eyes, “Leave me alone, okay? Don’t try to be my boss!” With that, she stomped out of my house and drove away. I did the smart thing and called Lil.
“Yes, who is it?” Lil said hurriedly.
“It’s Jaiden,” I explained. “Are you busy tonight?”
“Actually, yes I am. Have you talked to Sky recently?”
“Yeah, she just stormed out of my house. She’s going on a date with Noah tonight.”
“I know, that’s why I’m busy. I’m going after her to make sure he doesn’t try anything.”
“That’s gonna look suspicious. Just going alone? Maybe you should go with another person.”
“You? Is that your way of asking me out?”
“N-no, I was just thinking that two people would be better than one.”
“Fine, I’ll meet you at the Cinema. We’ll go in right before the movie starts and sit in the back.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
-----
We met up and followed the plan, and the movie passed uneventfully. Afterward, we waited until they walked out and then followed. We followed from a safe distance, but kept them in sight. They went outside and then disappeared.
“They turned left, right?” Lil asked. We walked down the street when I noticed someone down in an alley. Noah and Sky were hugging, and he was taking his mouth near her neck, his fangs evident.
“NO!” Lil yelled. She jumped forward and tackled him to the ground. He threw her off him and went for her neck. I kicked him in the jaw, knocking out one of his fangs.
“Seriously?” Noah said, “You think you can stop us? You know nothing of my kind. You can’t stop us. No one can.” He froze and looked down. A wooden spike was protruding from his chest.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He began to disintegrate until he was just a pile of dust on the ground. Behind him, Lil kneeled, the wooden spike in her hands.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“My mum,” Lil said. “She had a bunch of them. In my family, it’s always the women who are the vampire hunters.”
“What do you mean, vampire hunters? Like, Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
“It’s too much to say right now. We need to get to the Sanctum. There, my mum can explain.”
Dear king of dreams
Dear lord of night
I request your presence
With me tonight
To lay me down
And place with care
In the realm of dreaming
A place to share
Shared with others
Lived in by plenty
Let me dream
Among the many
Let my dream
Be ever full
Let me think
To be tranquil
Dust your sand
Above my head
Be nigh at hand
Stay by my bed
Through the night
I'll need protection
From my fears
Of imperfection
For when I wake
I’ll be renewed
I'll keep in mind
My dreams construed
I'll tell my dream
To those I know
And further then
To those I don't
The dream has meaning
Still to be found
Harder to see
Makes little sound
To lose your dream
Is to lose your hope
For in your mind
A dream’s to cope
Struck with awe
Realization is made
The dream is not lost
In the heart, it’s laid
The bombs fell, and with them, our hopes. Some were classic explosives, destined to blow innocent people apart. However, most contained the dangerous Z13 virus. The virus took control of the host body and used it to infect others. When everyone is infected, they die. They have nothing left to feed on. With them, the host body dies. Everyone was hurrying to The Shelter, an underground building in the middle of the village. If you didn’t make it before the door closed, you were left to die. They couldn’t risk the virus getting in.
When the bombs fell, I was fifteen. I was out working in the fields when I saw the planes approaching. I ran for The Shelter, warning people on the way. Even now, forty years later, I still remember the sound of the first bomb exploding. It landed in the building next to me with a dull thud. Then, it blew the fragile wood house apart. A piece of shrapnel sliced across my leg and I collapsed. I thought that was the end. Hands, strong and callused from working in the fields, picked me up and carried me. I never saw their face. They brought me to the door and pushed me inside. The door shut behind me, and my savior was left outside. There was a hiss and the door was sealed shut.
Other than me, there were six other people in The Shelter. I had no siblings, and neither of my parents was inside. The other six people were: Brusch Gar, a strong man who was very influential in the village; Makra Ver, a rich merchant; Hera Gar, Brusch’s wife; Grego For, a skilled hunter; Trea Het, the daughter of the village chief; and Boio Kar, an energetic twelve-year-old. Boio was my cousin, and he immediately came to stand by me.
“I’d hoped the bombs wouldn’t fall until I had passed.” Makra said.
“Silence,” Brusch said, his voice deep and rumbling, “We need to disinfect ourselves. If one of us was infected, it could spell doom for us all.”
We stumbled down a hallway and each went into separate rooms. Each room was like a miniature bathroom. In one corner was a shower, a toilet was directly across from it, and a sink was next to that. I quickly undressed and stood for about ten minutes under the hot water in the shower. I didn’t turn the temperature down at all. The water was mixed with a powerful disinfectant, which killed any germs, diseases, and viruses on my body. That, mixed with the heat, should have killed Z13—if it was present at all. When I was done, I grabbed a towel off the rack, wrapped it around my waist, and dumped my clothes in the incinerator. I walked down the hallway to a different room. A gray shirt and gray pants were sitting on a small cot. Five years before, the village chief had shown everyone what we would do if we made it to The Shelter. I put the shirt and pants on, and then went back outside. Everyone else was outside as well.
“Everyone, go back inside your room. Do all of the tests. If any of them are red, call it through the door, and never leave,” Brusch said. “Don’t leave the room until all of the tests are green.”
He was referring to the metal trays filled with clear gel in all of the rooms. The trays were separated into three areas. I went back into my room and pulled out the tray. With it was a metal pick, about half the size of a knitting needle. I held my thumb over one of the segmented areas and poked myself with the needle. A second later, a drop of blood fell into the segment. I wrapped the wound in some fabric and continued. I stirred the blood in with the needle. In the end, there was a pinkish liquid. I added some saliva to another area and stirred it in. Mucus went in the last one. Then, I set the tray in a drawer and sealed it. Results wouldn’t show for about a month. The clear gel in each tray was a solution that scanned blood, saliva, and mucus for the Z13 virus. Symptoms didn’t always show immediately, so we used the trays to make sure no one had it. If the gel turned green, it was fine. If it turned red, it wasn’t fine. I laid down on the cot and fell asleep. Weeks passed like that. Waking up and checking the trays. Sitting around doing nothing until I was tired. Checking the trays again and then going to sleep. One day, I woke up and saw that the blood and mucus areas were green. I almost cheered. I still had to wait for the saliva. So, I waited. Two more weeks passed. I woke up one day and heard scratching out in the hallway. Howls followed. I checked the saliva and saw it was green. Then, I opened the door. The howling was coming from behind one of the doors. It was Makra Ver’s door.
“He has been infected,” Brusch said from behind me, “I remotely sealed his door. The disease won’t get out, but neither will he.” Other people poked their heads out.
“Are they all green?” Brusch asked. Everyone nodded, “Good. I regret that we lost one person, but losing more would be catastrophic.”
“Should we take the tests again?” Hera asked.
“We took the tests after being near him. If any of us were infected, it would’ve shown. We should be good. If you feel strange, immediately lock yourself in your room. Now, let's move deeper.” We walked to the end of the hallway and crowded into an elevator. It took us down. We got off in a large room. The room contained tables, a stockpile of food, and exercise equipment.
“Everyone must spend at least an hour a day exercising in some way,” Brusch said, “We don’t want anyone to get weak.”
“I don’t think I’ll need it,” Boio said, “Working in the fields has made me stronger.”
“That’s good. We’ll probably be here for at least a year, maybe more. If we don’t exercise, we won’t be strong enough to survive outside.” I contemplated the equipment. Some of it looked foreign, and I wondered how you would use it. I also felt I wouldn’t need it, but there was a silent agreement between everyone that Brusch was the leader. I wasn’t built like Brusch, but in the past five years of working in the fields, I had gained muscle, and on weekends I wrestled with other boys my age. I spent most of my time in the fields, and I normally won every duel.
“We only have these two areas, so there might be times when you are bored. It doesn’t matter. Whatever you do, don’t open the door. There could be legions of infected people outside, or just the virus waiting to come in. Now, I’m done talking, so do what you please. As of now, we are going to ration the food.”
“We have plenty!” Grego said.
“We don’t know how long we’ll be here. If we eat all the food and we can’t leave, we might as well let the virus in. No one eats food unless I say so. If you’re hungry, do something to take your mind off it.” With that, Brusch walked over and began lifting weights. Boio came over to me.
“What should we do?” he asked.
“You can go exercise. I’m going back to my room.” I went to the elevator and returned to my room. The next six years went by like that. We celebrated birthdays, and mourned for those we’d lost. In the second year, Hera died. Not long after that, Boio discovered a secret room packed with food. It was enough to last a hundred years. Then, seven years later, Trea and I got married. We began with seven. Four died. Now, it is just me, Trea, Boio, and you four. My lovely children.
