Posts
Challenges
Portals
Authors
Books
beta
Sign Up
Challenge
Challenge of the Month XXXV
R.I.P Challenge: This one is from our social media director, and it's a staff favorite. In our fashion, the winner takes the $100, and this one is judged solely by the social media department. 500 word minimum. We can't wait to read these! In this writing challenge, you will be tasked with creating a story in which the old version of yourself is killed off and a new character is introduced. This new character should be a transformation of the old you, representing the growth and change that you have undergone. To begin, you will need to think about what aspects of your old self you would like to leave behind, and what qualities you would like to cultivate in the new version of yourself. Consider what events or experiences led to your transformation, and how you have grown as a result. Next, you will need to develop your new character, giving them a unique appearance, personality, and backstory. As you write, be sure to incorporate elements of your own life and experiences, as well as any symbolism or themes that are important to you. Finally, you will need to craft a story that brings your old self to an end and introduces your new character. This could be a tale of redemption, self-discovery, or personal growth. Whatever direction you choose to take, be sure to make it a compelling and meaningful journey for your readers.
Profile avatar image for TW
TW
69 reads

Course Corrections

Oh, this wouldn't do.

Nope.

What the hell was this - a mortgage? In this bougie city? Sure, maybe Marxism had been a phase in fifth grade but socialism remained the ultimate stance of the Working Class, and TW would have to work until death.

Who the hell had TW married - this asshole? Bossy, spoiled, inconsiderate - all the shit TW had struggled not to be growing up. What, did we marry a project? No? Then fuck this shit. Let somebody else school that fool. Why should he get to be a jerk when we wasted all our energy being a better person?

This job? This job was shit. Stressful, underpaid, underappreciated. We're not bringing up the socialism again but definitely no. That had to go too.

It took some time, some awful, awful time that felt like death as the pieces of the life that just wouldn't do fell apart one-by-one. There was struggle - like choking old vines that had grown comfortable and wanted to cling to their old supports. Tough shit.

Little T didn't accept weakness.

Since getting into arguments with little boys on the playground at age 5, Little T had held her ground. Always. She'd listened to Grandma -- never fall in love, don't accept the shit they put on you, read and do well in school -- and it hadn't failed her yet. She handled the drama of her well-meaning parents, who'd unfortunately had four too many kids and struggled to raise them all when their own emotional development was still lacking. She had handled the constant expectations of a fucked up school system that rewarded talent and lazy teaching over personal development - typical Capitalist institution, don't spend or invest in anything just take the easy fruit and pay for the present with the ruin of the future - and still maintained a straight-A perfect record with a very active bitch face, thank you. Yet despite all the comments of, "Oh, such an old soul!" she continued to find sanctuary in a room filled with the toys, imagination and stuffed army of her inner child.

Because Little T was still a child - not a third parent or a future scholastic achiever like everybody wanted. And as Little T quickly realized, there were no real "adults"- simply older, bossier humans who felt entitled by experience and made all the same mistakes of their younger counterparts over and over again.

Like this adult Little T had grown into.

Big T needed help. Obviously she'd lost sight of who she'd originally planned to be. No vacation in years? Her dreams of working to make a difference - dashed to pay bills. Her continual search for fun and adventure - set aside indefinitely, partly thanks to a stick in the mud she'd attached herself to. She'd marched headlong into responsibility and drudgery like a good soldier sent to die in the field of adulthood. And now here she sat at 3 A.M., crying in the bathroom with no idea why.

Fuck. That. Shit.

Little T made changes. The hair - fix it. The name - change it, let's be a proper Bond Villain, those ladies were deadly. The home - move it. The job - new one, nonprofit. The body - fell apart, but it had never fit right growing up anyway so fuck it for now. The drugs - ditch 'em, we don't need drugs when we can cope right. The boy - let him go. If little boys couldn't keep up they had to stay behind, that had always been the rule of the playground. Little T didn't follow others, she led. This housewife shit was never gonna work long term, not with some stubborn jerk who couldn't be bothered to console his wife at night. If Little T had to support herself then fuck it - why support someone else.

Slowly Big T started to emerge again. Some silly quirks and mistakes, some glitches here or there, but they worked themselves out. Little T had always planned for a life like Grandma's, and old age was something to look forward to if you played your bridge cards right. Big T just needed a shift and her course would correct just fine.

The new home had space now. Space to rest, in privacy and solitude, without judgement or expectation. Space to create and work, at her own pace and time, on the things she really cared about. Space for pets - including the cats her ex had always resented and hated - with parks to investigate and neighbors to greet. Space that was all Big T, no tired and washed out TW.

And as Big T gradually regained a sense of self, Little T smiled and retreated to the inner walls of the heart she'd always defend.

Because sometimes it takes a little girl to do a warrior's job.

11
4
2