A – Apple

This story, “Destiny,” was written for the 2025 April A to Z Blog Challenge. Twenty-six words, one for each letter of the alphabet, were preselected by a random word generator (MacChatGPT). Each selected word is included in the section of the appropriate letter in the Challenge. The chosen word is highlighted within the text. 

Destiny – Part 1 (apple)

Adriana was a quiet child while growing up in Glendan. She loved to read and could always be found with her head in a book about the past. She was days away from turning nineteen years old. In her culture, nineteen was the beginning of her adult life. Her birthday would be the day she had to choose her destiny. Her older siblings had passed through this phase. Her older sister chose to, and became, a scientist, an expert on plants and animals of distant worlds. Her older brother chose to become an environmental attorney, a law expert on endangered species of their planet, and a defender of their rights. 

Adriana had no interest in the destinies of her siblings. She had a higher goal. She was well-versed in the folklore and culture of her planet from all her readings. She knew that there had once been kings and queens who ruled. She believed that magic did exist. Adriana wanted to become a princess and, eventually, a ruler. The problem was that “princess” was not a choosable listed destiny. This was not a land of kings and queens anymore. There had not been kings or queens in a millennium.  It was a land governed by Elder Rules decided upon by committee and agreed upon by vote. 

In this culture, you cannot change your destiny once you choose it. Her parents did their best to dissuade Adriana from making that foolish choice. That choice, nor any like it, had ever been made; no one knew its consequences. 

But this did not deter Adriana. She was determined to become a princess. If not there, then elsewhere.

The day of her nineteenth birthday came. In this world, the choice of destiny is celebrated. Tables were set in her parent’s garden for the festivities beneath a grove of fruit trees. Many community members arrived just to hear Adriana’s claim of a destiny. Only her family knew what she might say. They hoped it would be different, but they also knew that Adriana was now a determined woman at nineteen and would not be deterred. 

She stood straight and strong as she got up to receive the scepter of destiny, an ancient relic of times past, handed to all 19-year-olds. 

Her mother recited the traditional words, “Adriana, you have now reached the end of your youth. You are about to embark on a wonderful journey, your life’s desire. Do you promise to undertake this journey with thought, courage, and perseverance?”

“I do,” she replied.

“Then, before your family, friends, community, and all those who have come here to witness your choice, choose what you want to and will become.”

As she looked out at the crowd of people, she said in a firm voice, “For my destiny, I wish to become a princess.”

There was silence in the audience at first rather than the usual cheering and applause. 

Then came the murmurs.

“What does she mean?”

“Is this a joke?”

“She must be insane.”

The cacophony became louder and angrier.

At that moment, an apple fell from the tree overhead and landed by her feet.

Adriana picked it up and looked at it. It was an ordinary apple, or so she thought. 

It’s not clear what happened next. The people saw the apple in her hand. They saw her take a bite out of it. There was a flash of light. And Adriana was gone. 

Her story has begun.

To be continued in B – Brightly

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When will we learn?

When will we learn?

There’s a folktale about three butterflies caught in the rain and unable to get home. One is yellow, one is white and one is red. They seek shelter to protect themselves from the water coming down. 

They approach a red tulip and ask for shelter among its petals. The tulip looks at them and says, “The red one can stay, but not the yellow and white one, for they are different. Being close friends, they choose not to accept the offer. 

Flying further, they find a white lily. Again, they ask for shelter from the rain. The lily answers, “The white one can stay, for you are like me, but not the red and yellow one, for they are different.” 

Again, they choose to stay together, for they are friends. Finally, they find a yellow daffodil, and as you can guess, the answer is still the same.

The Great Sun looks down upon these three butterflies. It admires the closeness, resolve, and love of each other, not to be separated and to stand together, despite their perceived differences.

 The Sun, being the powerful entity that it is, pushes away the rain clouds, dries up the rain, and warms the butterflies’ wings so that the three can return to their own home and be protected.

This is an old folktale. It’s surprising that the opinions of its story still hold true today. 

There are those like the flowers who seek to be the one—the one who is right, the one who is better than others, the one with no empathy and compassion, the one who will not help and aid the sufferings of others because of their differences, feeling that others are inferior and not worthy of assistance. They look for individuals of like mind, appearance, and belief and see a future revolving around themselves. 

Yet there are also those of us, like the Sun, who see beyond differences. They see others as equals with unique strengths and traits that enhance the beauty of the world we live in and are willing to do all they can for the benefit of everyone. They look for each of us to be part of a melting pot of everything—molded into a better self, a stronger self, and a brighter future.

The folktale was created to send a message to all. Do we learn from it? Or do we continue along the path we are heading toward, where there is no growth and inevitably we are destroyed?

Think about. Which world would you like to be part of?

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The Seeds

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. 

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Don’t Stop Believing

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

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An Awakening

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.

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Blogging from A to Z Challenge 2025 – Theme Reveal

Blogging from A to Z Challenge 2025

Theme Reveal

This is my tenth year participating in the A to Z Challenge. Each year I try to come up with a theme to challenge myself. One year I wrote each entry as an epistolary set of events, some connected, some not. That was inspired by another A to Zer that did that in the previous year (Crackerberries). One year, I was inspired by a writing group I was in, and I wrote an entire 26-part story based on a short piece I wrote for that group. 

This year, I am again inspired by a fellow A to Zer from last year (DB McNicol) who had a random word generator select 26 words (one of each letter of the alphabet) and wrote a complete serialized story over the month using those words. 

I used ChatGPT to generate my word list. I asked Chat GPT to compile the list with either nouns, verbs, or adjectives. I made two changes to the suggested list. I replaced one adjective “bright” with its adverb and had ChatGPT generate a different word for the X word it initially gave me. 

Here is my final list of words I’ll be using: apple, brightly, climb, dance, elegant, forest, grow, happy, idea, jump, kind, lake, marvelous, nest, observe, peaceful, quake, river, strong, travel, unique, venture, wander, xylophone, yearn, and zephyr.

Join me as you follow my main character, Adriana, on her quest to achieve her destiny. I look forward to your comments.

 

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Pizza anyone?

The writing prompt was “Don’t drop the pizza!” We had 5 minutes to write.

Pizza anyone?

“Don’t drop the pizza!”, she said.

“Why would I do that?” he replied

“Because that is what you do. Every time you want to act like a fancy waiter, you drop whatever you’re holding,” she said. 

“Do you think that I do that intentionally?” 

“No,” she said, “ you’re just clumsy and an idiot. Just hand me the pizza.”

He looked at her and called out, “Here, catch,” making a motion to throw.

“Look out!” She screamed, but it was too late. 

She knew that he was just faking the throw, but also saw the cat cross his path.

 There is no 5 second rule on pizza. Once pizza hits the ground it’s a goner.

“I give up,” she said. “Next time we eat out at the pizza place.” 

 

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Look, Listen, Buy?

The story spark was – Laugh Lines. The writing prompt I took was: A time in your life that knocked your socks off.

 

Look, Listen, Buy?

 

Now, this will sound weird, but I have a problem with socks. 

Yeah, I know we all have problems with socks. You are convinced you put a pair in the laundry and when you empty the dryer, lo and behold, you only have a singleton. What happened to the other sock?

That is not the problem I have. 

Let me backtrack a bit and fill you in on where I’m at. 

Last Thursday, I took a trip to the city. I planned to see a few museums, have lunch at a cheap restaurant, and then take the train back home. As I left home to catch the train, I noticed I had inadvertently put on two singleton socks that didn’t match. Not wanting to miss the train, I decided not to go back and change. After all, I was going to the city, and people who walk around with mismatched socks wouldn’t be noticed. 

However, as I walked around the city, people must have noticed. For every person I passed, looked down at my feet. 

As I crossed 5th Avenue I spotted one of those street vendors. You know, the ones you always look the other way so that they don’t try to sell you anything. This time was different. The woman doing the selling was selling socks. I asked her how much the socks cost and what they were made of. You see, I’m allergic to wool and wouldn’t want anything made of it. 

She spoke with a foreign accent that I couldn’t recognize and said something about socks, magic, perfect fit, and never need washing.

None of that made sense, but I saw ones that matched what I was wearing and I bought a pair. It was a steep price, but I figured it sounded okay if they fit and I didn’t have to wash them often. 

I found a place where I could sit down, change into them, and continue my city trip. No one glanced at all at my feet the rest of the journey. 

That night when I got home and undressed for bed, a strange thing happened when I took my shoes off. The socks pretty much took themselves off without me touching them. When I got up and dressed in the morning, as soon as I put my pants on, these same socks put themselves on me. I never laid a hand on them. 

This has continued since last Thursday! I can’t get rid of these socks. No matter where I put them, they seem to find me. No wonder she said they never need to be washed. They won’t leave my feet alone long enough to get washed. 

Think of it, if you had only one pair of socks that lasted forever, would you need any other socks? Well, YES, unless you happen to wear the same colored outfit every day. These socks don’t go along with most of what I wear. 

I’m now back in the city to find that vendor again. But she doesn’t exist, and no one I’ve spoken to has even heard of her. I’m not sure what to do.

Not wanting to go home empty-handed, I just made another purchase before I leave the city. I found a vendor selling a really cool looking sweatshirt. Yeah, the color isn’t the greatest, but I can live with that. It says, “Look Before You Leap.”  I really like that quote. He mumbled something about magic I didn’t quite understand, but the price was ridiculously cheap. For that price, “What could possibly go wrong?”

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It’s All Up To Us

The Story Spark for this piece was – History. The prompt that I used was a quote by Nelson Mandela.

It’s Up to Us

Being born in 1950, I spent my teen years during the turbulent 60s. It was a time of independence. Dress codes changed.  Gone were the days of wearing a tie every day except during September and June in my public elementary school, including wearing the mandated white shirt and tie on assembly days. 

When I first walked into high school in 1965, the students won the right to wear jeans to school for the first time. This set the stage for other forms of protest. 

After registering for the draft,  in 1968, I started college. I still wasn’t allowed to vote; that would come when I turned 21 (the same year they changed the voting age to eighteen). However, not being able to vote did not stop us from protesting. That was when the real protests began. There was Vietnam, civil rights, and women’s rights, to mention a few. There were countless opportunities to stand up for human rights, dignity, respect, and have a voice. 

I didn’t partake in much of the protesting, though inside, I could understand what it was all about. I’m not sure whether I was shy, afraid, or just not a partaker.

As I got older, more of the rights of individuals and people did affect me. I was still not an avid protester, but I was willing to share and lend support to those groups that were doing the voicing. 

Unfortunately, we have reached a crossroads in our society today where there is no way not to be part of the voice. Nelson Mandela said, “To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.” That has been true throughout all our history and due to the process we are governed by, it is being tested as I write daily. 

We have given the power to those who do not stand by Mandela’s tenet. The fear that has become pervasive in this new regime is great. 

However, it is not a time to cower to their actions and threats. We must stick together and continue to protest. We must continue to voice our concerns and question actions. We must not give in. We must believe that we are capable of making that change in ourselves and the world and save our humanity. 

I’ll be there. I will write those letters and stories. I will make those calls. When possible, I will stand by those who want to live in a better world of trust, responsibility and empathy for those around us. As I hope you all will too. 

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The Spark Generator

The Story Spark for this piece was – Spark

 

The Spark Generator

February 13, 2025

Dear Fellow writers,

As you may or may not know, I have been creating story sparks/prompts since December 2021. Over the years, I have had a lot of help creating and distributing those sparks from some of you so that there is something for everyone to choose from and share. 

But now, things are about to change. 

 

Some of you who have read the writing I shared in our writing groups might remember that I have written about meeting with my future self. 

In December 2021, I had a Zoom meeting with my future self, where my future self (he) shared with me several things that would happen to me in the future https://www.hdhstory.net/Storyblog/?p=2853. Unfortunately, I have discovered that some predicted things could not occur. And, there were some important heart things he could have shared that would have helped me if I had been warned. But, then again, with age comes some memory loss, and he was 20 years older than me at the time.

You should all know I have had contact with my future self again. This time, he decided to make amends for the mistakes he professed in our last encounter and it wasn’t on Zoom. It was through a package delivered by the intergalactic postal service. 

**

 

The package included a letter to me. He wrote:

Dear me,

I am so sorry for the errors in our last communication. I totally forgot about those unfortunate events in our lives and those of our family. I have enclosed a gift to compensate you for any problems that might have occurred. 

Sending you this is highly irregular and quite illegal. If you get caught with it, do not implicate me, as it might cause detrimental consequences to your/our future. 

The gift I give you is a Spark Generator. Just place it on your head and press the appropriate buttons to activate the spark you are looking for. 

Use it well, as you will create sparks for many more years. And do remember what I said about writing the 4th book *. 

Your future self,

Me (a.k.a. You)

 

So there you have it. I now have a Spark Generator. The problem is that none of the buttons, other than the power button, are labeled –  kind of like the Optimum Fiber Optic TV remote. It’s all guesswork. Here’s what it looks like:

**

You place the hat on your head, and you power it up. You then press one of the buttons to spark something. 

I’ve figured out that I can spark curiosity, relationships, conversations, memories (which is very helpful if I’m walking from one room to another for some unknown reason and have the hat on), and ideas (such as writing prompts).

I’ve also discovered that it works both internally and if I am in contact with someone else, externally. 

There are buttons to spark panic, regret, an argument, and all sorts of emotions. 

The biggest issue with using the hat is that the buttons keep moving around, and the colors are never the same, so I can’t predict which button I’m pressing at any given time. 

Needless to say, it should greatly assist me in making up our future writing prompts (which I plan to keep doing for a while), provided I can figure all this out. And also, if I can figure out how to keep it charged. 

TNWW (Till Next We Write). 

Your faithful prompter,

:{)

——————

 

*  refer to the link of our previous meeting on Zoom.

 

** Fyi – for this piece, I googled “Intergalactic Postal Service” to get the image I used (Yes, there really is one). I also used MacChatGPT to generate the image of the Spark Generator.

 

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