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The writing prompt was, “Carefully, I pressed the seeds into the ground and covered them up. I knew these seeds would change my life forever, and I wasn’t about to let them go to waste.” 

The Seeds

I don’t know where the seeds came from. This packet was leaning against the tree as I walked the forest path. There was no label on the packet. However, my name was written on it.

As I bent to pick up the packet, the soreness in my bones did their usual reminder that I was becoming older. Then I touched the packet of seeds, and warmth flooded my body. Where was this feeling coming from?

The odd thing about the warmth was that it stayed with me on my return home. Not knowing why, rather than entering my house, I went to the garden shed. Something in me was compelling me to plant the seeds now. 

I grabbed my trowel, made my way to the garden, and located a place where the seeds would be planted. This, too, was unusual because the place I chose was not one where I had ever planted anything. 

The ground was hard, and many stones were embedded in it. There were no life signs anywhere, no bugs, no weeds, no source of water, and no hope of success. Yet, here was the spot I chose to plant the seeds. The area was overshaded, and there was no hope of these seeds getting sun, yet I dug my trowel into the ground. 

As hard as the ground seemed, the trowel glided beneath it. With each clump of earth I dislodged and turned over, the soil became dark and rich. Something was happening that made no sense. 

I opened the packet and pulled out the three seeds within. I placed one in the earth at a time, not in a row as expected, but in a triangle formation. Again, not as expected. Something outside me was guiding my moves. 

I covered the seeds up and left to retrieve water to nourish them. 

When I returned, there was already growth where once there was solid ground. 

Three plants had emerged from the ground. 

One was but a sapling, a small emergent bud of a plant. 

The second was a lanky but sturdy young tree standing a foot taller than me. You could see that it had blossomed with many colored leaves.  

The third was the tallest of the three. It was more aged than the first two. There were fewer leaves on it, mostly duller gray. The branches were more bent and creaked as the wind wafted past them. It looked like it had been there for a long time. 

What were these special seeds that found me? Were they a representation of what my life was meant to be? If so, they would change my outlook for the rest of my life forever. I did not know the path I would take, but I had confidence that I was destined to have a long and fulfilling one. 

The writing prompt for this piece was the title of a Journey song: Don’t stop believin’. We had 6 minutes to write.

Don’t Stop Believing

Don’t stop believing

One cannot do it alone

Never let them tell you that you can’t

‘Tell yourself you are better than that

Stay the course and persist

Temper your judgment with logic

Onward as you go

Prepare for what is to come

But also prepare to show cause

Enter into the fray well-armed

Lies do not protect those who use them

I’m going to have my say

Everyone needs to listen and respect

Virtuous people will respond with hope

Instill empathy among those without

No one is above the law

Goodness comes from understanding

The writing prompt for this piece was Write about a character coming out of a long hibernation (either literal or metaphorical).

An Awakening

YAWNNN!

My eyes slowly opened. It took a while for the fog to clear from my brain and the fuzzy scene ahead of me to clear up.

As I looked around me, I noticed that things had changed since I had fallen asleep. I remember being lost in the woods. I remember the fear of what was in the woods. There were wild animals, who I was sure were looking for a tasty treat.

There were hunters, some out for sport, some out for necessity, some out just to protect themselves.

How did I fit into all of this?

Of course, with no mirror to reflect my visage to me, how had I changed, and for how long was I asleep?

The cobwebs in my brain began to loosen themselves. More memories came back to me. It wasn’t the woods I had been in but a room of some sort. Three walls were white, and the fourth wall had a definite locked gate. Was it a cage or a prison cell? Why was I there? Someone must have put me here. I remember hearing a voice and felt a sharp sting on my arm. The next thing I knew was waking up here.

But I’m not in a cell anymore. It appears I’m in an unknown forest.

What is happening?

I steady myself and discover that I am not being restrained. I am mobile. As I move forward, I hear the speech.

“Get rid of them all,” is shouted out. “Find them before they get to you.”

What could that mean? Who is talking? Where am I?

“They’re not like us,” the voice continued. “It would be better if they’re gone permanently.”

This was followed by a large cheer from just beyond the woods I found myself in.

I was going to go forward to see what all this was about when I heard a voice behind me call out, whispering loudly, “Not that way, Follow me.”

I turned to see someone in a green suit. I would have said it was Peter Pan, but I knew better.

I’m not sure why I trusted him, but I did as he said.

He led me further into the woods and then out into a clearing where several other people were sitting on the ground, looking just as confused as I was. This green-clad person pointed to a spot next to one of the ones on the ground.

I sat.

Before I could say anything, a voice said, “There is no hope for them. They don’t follow reason. For them, this world is a plaything, not a place to inhabit. Let them be, and they will destroy themselves.”

More things became clear in my mind. Despotic rulers, climate change, hatred, bigotry, and lies.

“Follow me,” said the green-clad man, “and we will go to a better place, a better world, one of hope, one of trust, one of caring and empathy, one worth fighting for.”

I was about to get up and join the others and follow this idealist when I stopped. I called out, “If this world is worth fighting for, then let’s fight, not abandon those unaware of what’s happening. Let’s educate them and build our world here, not somewhere else.

I don’t know what made me say it. It might even be why I was put in that cell before being rescued. But it made much more sense than giving up and running away.

As luck would have it, I wasn’t the only person that felt that way. We all did. We chose not to leave with that green-clad man. We would be the hope for change.

Last I heard, the green-clad man returned to that group on the other side of the woods and called out to their leader that he had failed.

The Story Spark for this piece was – Love.

I chose the writing prompt: Tell us about someone you (or a character) fell in love with.

She

He was only eighteen. He had never felt this way before. This feeling had been growing for some time. Waiting for her was unbearable. She needed to arrive so he could express the thoughts and feelings he had kept inside for what seemed a lifetime. He had to let her know.

It started in first grade when they first met. She didn’t introduce herself by name, but he could sense something about her that attracted him. Whatever it was, he felt confident around her. He felt strong. His mind grew with thoughts of things to do, things to share, things to create. 

He didn’t attribute it to her. He just knew that when she was around, he felt happy. 

As he grew older, she seemed always to be there when he needed her. It never dawned on him to find out who exactly she was. Did she have a name? What did she do when she was not with him? Why was it that no one else saw her? 

You can attribute her to being an imaginary creation when you’re young. Many a child growing up has those imaginary friends. But he was older now; he should know better. Imaginary means they are all in your head; they don’t exist. 

But she must, after all, he was now much older. Logic demands that imaginary friends go away as we age. But he knew she was still there. 

The love that had been growing in him was strong. It needed to be expressed to her. So where was she? She needed to appear again. But she didn’t come. At least not then. 

As time passed he continued to age, and she always returned when he needed a thought to be explored. Then came the groups and the places where it was important to expound upon words and prompts. She became more prominent. 

“Here is your writing prompt. You may begin,” the master directed. 

He sat, unsure, took his writing implement up, put it on the paper, and then wrote just one sentence. It was just an ordinary sentence. By now, though, he knew she would come, and she did. 

The rest is here. His muse had done what she had done all his life. 

He wrote.