r/WritingPrompts • u/Cody_Fox23 Skulking Mod | r/FoxFictions • May 03 '20
Constrained Writing [CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Spring
Welcome back to Smash ‘Em Up Sunday!
Last Month:
With so many big moderator names attached the column last month we saw an interesting mix of writers. With 48 unique authors through the month, 923 total points were accrued! It was still not enough to unseat word-count limbo though!
| Best Months | Pts |
|---|---|
| February | 986 |
| April | 923 |
| March | 832 |
As for standout individuals we had some tenacious pointhounds as usual. Showing up every week and forcing each constraint to work for them /u/JohnGarrigan gets the only perfect score this week!
/u/OldBayJ showed up every week and only occasionaly had to leave certain blocks out which is a-OK to preserve the narrative you are writing. Great varied tales week after week from this one!
However close on their heels was /u/rudexvirus who put on the additional constraint of only using 100 words every week! This lost them a few points with some of the weirder constraints, but in the end it was an impressive undertaking all the same. I salute the commitment to microfic!
| Author | Pts |
|---|---|
| /u/JohnGarrigan | 56 pts |
| /u/OldBayJ | 52 pts. |
| /u/rudexvirus | 51 pts. |
| /u/TheLettre7 | 48 pts. |
| /u/throwthisoneintrash | 42 pts. |
Thank you for being such regular faces in these threads. I am always happy to see returning writers take on the challenge!
Last Week
Thanks to the broad range of SpecFic there was a whole lot of different stories to read last week! I am always happy to see these constraints taken in so many different directions. Week after week I’m always caught off guard by at least one story that does something totally unexpected. You all did a great job of working with /u/ArchipelagoMind’s constraints :D
Community Choice:
/u/CountsChickens snags it again this week with The Tomorrow Door
Remember, if you read through the stories and have a favorite DM me! You don’t even need to write to vote. This award is from the readers!
Cody’s Choices:
This Week’s Challenge
For May since we are changing seasons, I am thinking we’ll look at that. Each week will be the transition into a new season! This week we’ll explore the themes of Spring.
Winter melts away and the world is renewed with fresh life. Spring time, and especially green images have a deep literary tradition in the Pastoral. It has taken many different roles as time marches on, but I will leave how to use the season in your hands. Also, although not a constraint this week, I will be impressed if you bust out some kind of poem!
Good Luck!
BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE!
There seems to be a lot of people that come by and read everyone’s stories and talk back and forth. I would love for those people to have a voice in picking a story. So I encourage you to come back on Saturday and read the stories that are here. Send me a DM either here or on Discord to let me know which story is your favorite!
The one with the most votes will get a special mention.
How to Contribute
Write a story or poem, no more than 800 words in the comments using at least two things from the three categories below. The more you use, the more points you get. Because yes! There are points! You have until 11:59 PM EDT 09 May 2020 20 to submit a response.
| Category | Points |
|---|---|
| Word List | 1 Point |
| Sentence Block | 2 Points |
| Defining Feature | 6 Points |
Word List
Floral
Pastoral
Vernal
Arboreal
Sentence Block
The world was reawakening.
It felt overpowering.
Defining Features
Use a flower as a symbol
POV: 3rd person limited
What’s happening at /r/WritingPrompts?
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Nominate your favourite WP authors or commenters for Spotlight and Hall of Fame! We count on your nominations to make our selections.
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Want to help the community run smoothly? Try applying for a mod position. Someone has to keep the immortal snail locked up after all!
I hope to see you all again next week!
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u/sevenseassaurus May 09 '20
Elena needed to see for herself.
She exiled herself from the simple, pastoral life she had once known. These lands, as dead and barren as her own body, suited her. Rugged cacti stood as trees, no substitute for the arboreal beauty of the mountains back home.
Elena regarded the shriveled husk at her feet, the flower she had come to see.
Are you my spirit?
The vernal rains that pattered and puddled in her own valley would flood this empty sand, and Elena would see for herself.
It blitzed the desert. It shrieked as it spattered against the windows.
Elena holed herself inside and watched the rain. It felt overpowering, but she confronted it, resolute, and held her stance through the storm.
Prove it to me.
When the last pools vanished like mirages into the parched earth Elena would see for herself.
The world was reawakening.
Floral whimsy blossomed across the once lifeless hills, rejuvenated by the sudden rain. The fleeting flowers would bloom only this once, and only for a moment. Elena raced to catch that moment, and found it.
There upon the sand lay the same flower she had seen before, its dry talons uncurled, its seeds spilled and sprouting.
The resurrection plant.
So it is true.
The rain had not resurrected this plant, not truly. It was still dead. Amie was still dead. Elena knelt beside the tiny flowers, held her stomach, and cried.
She could have another. She could unfurl the lifeless leaves of her womb and plant a new seed. It would not grow into Amie, but it would grow into someone.
Having seen for herself, Elena turned home.
1
2
u/the_wand_is_mightier May 09 '20
Daisy’s senses popped into alertness, like being thrown into an ice bath while asleep. Cool, coarse earth pillowed her hot round body. Her insides bulged with pressure. It was time; the world was reawakening.
She loved this part. She couldn’t breath, but she knew not to be scared. She was slingshotted through the earth. Loose clumps of soil made way for her smooth, slender form. Up and up she traveled; it felt overpowering.
She exploded into the world in a flash of blinding light. Daisy took a big gulp of air. Warmth flooded her thin body and she swayed lightly in a soft breeze. To be alive again was invigorating.
Then came the annoying part; the waiting. It took time to grow a sense of vision and place. She couldn’t wait to open her eyes to her pastoral home, to the vernal canvas of pale green dotted by pastel pink, purple and white she knew to be around her. To say hello to her many floral and arboreal friends. She reminded herself to be patient.
A delicate green arm sprouted off her frame. It was a joy to move it, to lift it to the sky, to breath through it. With every deep breath she felt a burst of energy.
She felt the sun’s rays grow harsher as the day wore on, the heat radiated more intensely than usual against her soft body. Daisy shielded herself with her tiny arm. The eyelash of a petal began to flick on her head. While she was impatient, she knew this to be too early, her frame wasn’t sturdy enough yet.
The pupils opened slowly despite her objections and a series of white petals drooped out, pulling her limber sprout into an upside-down “J” shape. She peered out through a sagging head. Her usual verdant home was covered by a hard, black shell. The sun reflected blindingly off its glistening surface, radiating heat all around her. What was going on?
Bluebell? Daffodil? Poppy? She spotted Primrose in the distance but she was hunched over in the same way, her flowers wilted.
Daisy suddenly felt weary. A slight dizziness set in. Perhaps twenty-two is one too many times to be reborn?
A dull humming in the distance grew louder and the ground vibrated. The noise stopped with a click, followed by a thunk and two beeps. She felt nauseous.
A succession of slapping sounds reverberated against the black shell.
“Which way is the entrance to the museum, Dad?”
“This way, Bryan. But first go put Spiderman back in the car, please.”
Another thunk. The slapping noise grew louder; it pounded through Daisy’s limp body. She felt a swift breeze and for a brief moment the sun was fully blocked from view. Had Fall already come? But I was just…
WC 465
Think I got all the pts :)
Welcome any feedback/critiques. Thanks for reading!
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u/OldBayJ May 10 '20
This is good and I enjoyed reading!
I'm a bit confused what happened at the end?
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u/OldBayJ May 09 '20 edited May 10 '20
The Last Supper
Azalea sat in her favorite tree, enjoying the vernal scent of spring. The world was reawakening. She could see everything from here: the pastoral lands, the meadow, the edge of the woods, and her house in the middle of it all. It was the prime location to watch for her mother.
Something had always been slightly off with Azalea. She was a beautiful girl, small and petite, with beautiful golden-brown locks and large, brown eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. But she did everything she could to hide it.
She liked loose t-shirts and shorts and her beat up sneakers. Too often, her mother would instead make her wear floral dresses and bows in her hair. “Little girls are like flowers, pretty and delicate,” she would say. Her mother wanted her to learn all of the things a young girl should know: sewing, cooking, gardening, and housekeeping. She would insist on Azalea using her manners, sitting with her legs crossed, and curtsying.
Azalea held a grudge against her mother for all of it.
She was more like an arboreal animal. She could happily spend an entire day in the top of a tree. It drove her mother mad, which made Azalea cling to it even more.
She loved everything about nature. She would come home with leaves and twigs in her hair, her clothes covered in mud. She knew the woods inside and out, and often hid there, listening and laughing at her mother yelling for her to come inside.
She often thought she would be better off without her mother at all. She knew it was a cruel thought, but her mother was not the sweet woman she pretended to be. She would dress Azalea up and show her off to all of her friends, like she was a rare, collectible doll. Don’t forget to smile, Azalea. Don’t forget to curtsy and keep your legs crossed. And none of that boy stuff!
At home, her mother wasn’t the graceful, generous, and loving woman everyone thought. She didn’t believe her mother even knew what love was. After all, she had never uttered those three simple words to her, not even once.
---
Azalea watched her mother come out of the back door of their house. Her hair was neatly pinned up, not a strand out of place, her dress fitted and pressed. She looked around and began calling for Azalea.
Today will be the day, she reminded herself, chewing on her bottom lip.
She climbed down the tree, skinning her knee on it’s wide trunk. Her stomach knotted. It was just another reason for her mother to be mad. Another lecture about young girls and stupid flowers. She sighed and ran to the large rock nearby.
She took a pair of her mother’s gardening gloves from her pocket and removed the flowers she had stashed underneath, gently placing them in a small, cloth bag. She shoved the gloves and the bag in her pocket and ran back to the house.
An hour later, Azalea joined her mother at the dining table. She grinned as she watched her mother dole out a serving of stew on her plate.
“What is so amusing, Azalea?” Her mother gave her a stern look.
“Nothing, Mother.” She had thought of something witty to say, but decided she should let her mother have this one. She wiped the smile from her face.
“I see you found the dress I left out for you. The color suits you. It’s azalea-pink. I had it specially made for you.” She smiled, but Azalea could see the mockery in her dirt-brown eyes. She swallowed her pride and nodded.
After a couple bites, her mother looked up coughing, and took a sip from her wine glass.
“E-Exc-cuse me,” her mother said, coughing again.
Azalea sat quietly at the opposite end of the table.
In a rough, gravelly voice, her mother asked, “Why aren’t you eating your supper?”
“I’m not hungry.” She continued to watch her mother.
With her eyes red and watery, she continued coughing, taking fewer breaths in between. Her mother frantically banged on the table and pointed to the kitchen.
Azalea sat quietly in her chair, her face emotionless. Terror dripped from her mother’s face as she struggled for air.
Pale and convulsing, saliva spilled from her mouth. She grasped at her chest as the blood drained from her face.
Calmly, Azalea emptied her plate into the kitchen garbage and placed it in the sink. A thud echoed through the house.
She bent over to her dying mother lying on the floor. She stared at her, unable to hide her happiness.
“Huh. I guess girls are like flowers, Mother. Some pretty and delicate, others pretty and… deadly.”
She smiled, standing over her mother. The relief felt overpowering.
WC: 799
Critique and feedback are always welcome.
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u/the_wand_is_mightier May 11 '20
This is good! I especially enjoyed the details in the first half. Which character do you want the reader to sympathize with? They both turn out to be pretty creepy 😆
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u/psalmoflament May 09 '20
Buried beneath the snow, a young cub named Barrett began to grow restless. The tales of spring that his mother shared sounded of the highest form of fantasy, but he would have to see for himself to be sure. Day after day the spritely bear would ask about the lands above, only to be met with the same tantalizing answer:
“The world is reawakening.”
What did that mean? What is a reawakening? The precocious cub’s mind could not be contained within the walls of the winter den. His thoughts found freedom in the arboreal adventures ahead: climbing trees, snacking on shoots, and of the beautiful floral patterns that would cover him after a roll through a forest clearing.
But new life can be as cruel as it can be ambitious. Brad, the larger of the two brothers, proved to be the jovial bear’s first hill to climb.
“Why so excited? You won’t survive out there. You’re too small. Right, mom?”
Mother didn’t take a side, remaining silent. Barrett already possessed enough faith in himself to thrive, regardless of if the world was as majestic as his mother said, or as unforgiving as his brother believed. The worn expression on his mother’s face implied the latter, but still, his little heart would not betray him. It’s because she’s seen too many amazing things! he told himself.
The days ticked by, but finally, it was time. The three of them would paw their way out, crawling into a brand new world. But even as they dug, the moment felt eternal and overpowering for Barrett. Please be wonderful. Please be beautiful. Please be kind, he thought over and over. And then, finally…
Green.
A short distance away from where they emerged stood a single vernal, weak blade of grass. But it didn’t matter. To a cub who hoped the world would be painted in color and not meager shades of gray, it was the most beautiful thing in existence. Barrett was lost in wonder, a universe away from his brother’s guile.
“It’s going to die,” Brad said.
The words were heard but then forgotten before they could be understood.
Only a stiff thwack from Barrett’s mother moved the cub into action as they set off to find food. He held his gaze upon that wondrous blade for as long as he could. Only when it disappeared from view did he see the vibrant world appearing all around him.
Mysterious animals digging small holes. What are they looking for? Did they lose their dens?
Small streams of melting snow flowing toward mysterious lands. Why does the snow leave?
New, healthy, old, and dead trees - a mangled mess in every direction. I’ll never be able to climb those!
Every step brought new questions. Even the wildest wanderings of his mind could not have prepared him for such pastoral magnificence. But he also began to see some truth in his brother’s words, as his small stature took focus in the light of this expanding world. And off in the distance, the fear took on physical form.
“Mom said those are deer, and they’re going to eat you,” Brad said.
“Bradley Bear! Enough!”
Brad shrank from his mother’s words, but he achieved his goal. Young Barrett, even though mesmerized, began to retreat within. The real wonders before him began to mingle with those in the safety of his imagination. Hope and reality clashed, with a young cub caught in the realm between.
As they found and ate anything they could over the next several hours, Barrett remained confused. Every time he was sure he found his confidence, it would disappear over the horizon.
But soon came the accident of great fortune: the young bear tripped. His feet were capable but still weak to panic, and he quickly found himself in a tumble, rolling down a shallow hill.
After coming to a stop, he found himself staring up at strange appendages. His anxieties disappeared within curiosity, quickly getting to his paws to investigate.
He circled the green stemmed oddity cautiously, noting that all kinds of flying, buzzing creatures came to and fro. Finally, he remembered an old tale of his mother’s that solved the mystery.
A flower! But it’s so small. It’s going to die, too, isn’t it…
Gloom seemed imminent. But the longer Barrett stood there watching, with the buzzing creatures all about his flower and those nearby, he began to understand.
It seems so essential, even though it’s so tiny.
Oh!
Barrett felt his heart grow with glee, now feeling fully secure in who he was.
Soon, his mother called from atop the hill, and behind her, he could hear Brad’s mocking tones. But those didn’t matter anymore. He marched up upward with confidence and purpose.
His world was awakening.
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u/4HandsMinus2 May 09 '20 edited May 23 '20
March 19th, 2020: Vernal Equinox
Upon pastoral plains
To arboreal heights
Marches life, its seed the billet
Beyond fresh rains
And shortened nights
Its duty, my flower wil’t?
She tore off the daily poem from the calendar. Stupid stocking stuffer. She crumpled the page and dropped it in the trash on top of yesterday’s.
I’m in the future now. She smiled. If it were that easy she would just keep tearing and tearing and tearing. The pages would spill out of the bin, two-hundred eighty-eight white roses till the next year.
Downstairs, she could hear Mark making breakfast. She appreciated his persistence. The coffee would be steeped. He ground it fresh every day since lock down. He’d learned to bake bread three weeks ago and now she expected toast in the morning. The question was if it was an avocado spread or jam. It could define the day.
Jam. Apricot. She forgot they even had it. They typically allowed the jars of impulse buys to mold in the back of the fridge after one use, but times had changed. She took a banana from the fruit bowl. She never used to be hungry in the mornings.
“Morning,” Mark said with his hands in the sink. He didn’t turn around.
“Thank you,” she said. “As always.”
“Of course.”
He was just about finished, running his favorite knife through her favorite dish towel before sheathing it in the Henckels block.
“Remember, I have a call at ten.”
He always had a call at ten these days. She had nothing.
Two months ago she was the first one out the door. She could afford the extra bottle at dinner. She had a book club.
Two months ago she pulled out a Spring dress from the closet. It was the one Mark loved with the true blue floral print that made her eyes shine all the brighter. She looked at her profile and puffed out her belly. She could make it work, she thought.
Then this madness took it all away. It made her nauseous some mornings, but not the kind she hoped for. The apricot spread stung her nose. It felt overpowering. Like being pulped within the fruit.
Test after test marked each lengthening day a failure.
“We’ve got plenty of time before we can draw any conclusions,” the doctor said. “At least a year,” he responded to their questioning.
A year. It used to be a blip. How many calendar stocking stuffers had she torn through over her life? Since Mark? 30? 4?
The apartment felt like a sardine can after they returned from the doctor. She wondered what their shelf life was now that the days were indistinguishable. Is it the oil or the meat that goes rancid?
It was ten. It was time for her daily walk of sanity. Mark had insisted.
She went to the park that was five minutes away when she used to run. She walked through a puddle of warm air like a drop of oil in water. It was thick with Spring.
She noticed the richness in the green rhododendron leaves. Plain House Finches were chased by their red-breasted Romeos. The world was reawakening. It didn’t care about our trivial problems.
I am the world, she thought.
She plucked a purple anemone. In it she saw its seedling past, the fruit of its future. She took a deep breath of it, but she couldn’t smell anything.
One less competitor.
She dropped it and began the walk back home.
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u/OldBayJ May 10 '20
I like it! I enjoyed that you never actually told us that she wanted to get pregnant, but instead you described her feelings and used the world around her. You showed. A lot of writers miss this. Good job!
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u/QuiscoverFontaine May 10 '20
"Wake up, Sansaver!"
Hester prised her eyes open, fighting against the pull of sleep, and found herself face to face with the bright eyes and wide grin of Master Quartermain.
"Good morning, Sansaver!" he cried, his boyish face beaming. "Time to get up! Quickly, please."
"Huh?" Hester said, her thoughts moving as if through treacle.
"It's the vernal equinox, as I'm sure you've not forgotten. It's a most auspicious day. There is much to be done."
Despite his rousing words and cheery voice, Hester had to fight to stay half awake and not succumb to the warm embrace of sleep. It felt overpowering. She was just sinking back into dreamy blackness when Quartermain clapped loudly, shocking her back to wakefulness.
"Now, now, Sansaver. We can't be doing with this. If you want to learn the cunning ways then you’ll have to endure a few early starts now and then," he said, his mouth crooked with a slight smile. Hester wasn't sure if he was genuinely annoyed with her or not. “There are ingredients to collect, potions to start brewing, pickled things to un-jar, and there's a tidy little curse I want to get started on today, even though the solstice would be better for it, but it can't wait,” he continued, counting each item off on his long fingers.
Hester hauled herself upright and blearily peered through the gap in the shutters at the pale grey half-light of dawn. It was exactly as early as it felt.
“You've got five minutes or you're coming with me as you are. I can't do without you,” he chirruped as he climbed back down the ladder from her sleeping platform.
Five minutes later, Quartermain was locking the cottage door behind them. He was more sharply dressed than usual in his finest leather boots and his grass-green cloak with the delicate floral embroidery. Hester had thrown on the tunic she’d worn the day before and was feeling as rumpled as she looked.
They followed the narrow, meandering path through the forest, Quartermain keeping a fair pace with his usual loping ease, his long blond hair swaying down his back as he walked. Occasionally, he would stop at a seemingly random tree and stare at it thoughtfully as if to decide its arboreal worth. After a minute or two, he'd etch a tiny scorched mark on the bark with his finger, muttering to himself "yes, this one'll do nicely," or "oh definitely, but later."
Hester lagged behind, shivering in the chill of the sunless morning, slipping and skidding on the wet earth of the path as she walked and wondering - not for the first time - if she’d made a mistake apprenticing with this man.
The forest floor was already carpeted with the tender newly-sprouted leaves of wild garlic. Hester picked and ate a few as she went in lieu of the breakfast she’d been denied, relishing the fresh, sharp taste on her tongue. She could see the first few garlic flower buds just becoming visible among the leafy clumps, struggling to find any scrap of sunlight. Hester knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be towering above the leaves, busting into brilliant spiky white blooms. They just needed a little more time.
Eventually, they emerged from the trees onto the crest of a small hill at the edge of a meadow. Had it been May, they would have stepped out into an idyllic pastoral scene; the meadow lush with long grass and dotted with buttercups, the hawthorn hedges frosted in blossom, the trees verdant with new leaves. Instead, it was March, and the still-wintery landscape of scrubby grass and bare branches was rather unappealing in the bleak unshadowed light of the morning.
Quartermain stood staring out at it as if it were the finest painting he’d ever seen, his expression resolute and determined. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Ah, there’s nothing like the scent of the first hints of spring after a long, cold winter. Come on, Sansaver! Smell it for yourself.”
Hester glanced at her master sceptically but obeyed despite her reservations. She stepped up to the lip of the hill, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply.
She couldn’t smell anything. Still the same damp, chilly air that had been with them for months, devoid of any of the scents of life or the earth or nature. Hester’s heart sank. She had no talent for this line of work. She tried again, and it was then that she caught the faintest hint of a new smell. Something delicate and fresh, turned earth and new leaves, growing grass and budding flowers.
The world was reawakening. She could smell it. She could feel it.
In the east, the first warm rays of the rising sun illuminated the sky.
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796 words. Promised myself I'd get better at doing these in good time, but nope, last minute yet again.