Challenge
The Monster in the Closet. Runner-Up in I Wrote This Challenge.
Welcome to the Susan Sto Helit School of Child Headology. Lesson one: The Monster In The Closet. Example. Sprout's thudding footsteps on the stairs are my cue to close the social media app I’ve been doomscrolling and tuck my phone away. If I explained it, he would probably understand the concept of overcoming sleep inertia with the help of a screen stimulating my brain… but come on, he isn’t even nine years old. If he sees Mumma lying in bed, staring at her phone, he will learn that Lying In Your Bed And Staring At Your Phone is a normal thing to do.
By Deanna Greyabout a year ago in Writers
The Last Song on the Mixtape
The Last Song on the Mixtape Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, the old cassette tape in his hands. It was a relic from a life he no longer recognized, a small rectangle of memories wrapped in crinkled plastic. He hadn’t seen it in years, not since he’d thrown it into the bottom drawer, pushed beneath a tangle of forgotten trinkets and unimportant things. It was a mixtape she’d made for him—his first love, the girl who had written songs into his heart and left without an explanation. He had found it by accident, tucked into a cardboard box during a cleaning spree, the way things always seem to resurface when you least expect them. The tape was a faded blue with her handwriting scrawled across the label in that messy cursive he remembered so well: *“For Ethan, with love.”* He ran his thumb over the label. How many nights had they spent in his old Honda, driving aimlessly down deserted roads, the hum of the engine blending with the sound of her laughter? They had listened to this mixtape a thousand times, each song a marker of where their love had been—sweet and reckless, full of promise and the illusion of forever. But forever didn’t last, did it? He popped the cassette into the player, and the familiar crackle of static filled the room before the first song began. It was a love song—soft and gentle, like the way her voice had sounded when she sang along. He closed his eyes and let the melody wash over him. It reminded him of their first date, when they’d walked through the park, holding hands as if their fingers were magnets that couldn’t stay apart. The world had felt so simple then. He’d been young, too young to know how fragile things could be. The song faded out, and the second track began. It was an upbeat, carefree tune, and for a moment, Ethan could almost hear her laugh—how it would bubble up, unrestrained and full of life. He could almost feel her hand resting on his thigh as they drove through the city at night, their world as wide as the streets in front of them. But then, something shifted in the music. The third track was different. The tempo slowed. The tone darkened. The lyrics were familiar, but now they were laced with pain. Ethan leaned forward, his heart skipping a beat. He knew this song—this was the one she had written for him. She’d told him, years ago, that she’d written it about their relationship. She’d sung it in his car one night, her voice trembling as she poured her heart into the words. At the time, he’d thought it was just a silly song, something she had made up in a moment of emotional whimsy. But now, listening to it again, he heard it for what it really was: a goodbye, long before the actual goodbye. The chorus echoed in his mind, each line cutting deeper than the last: *"I gave you everything, but you couldn’t see, Now I’m just a shadow, fading away from me."* Ethan felt his breath catch in his throat. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, how much he’d wanted to hear her voice again—until this very moment. It was as if the song had cracked open a door to a part of his heart he had locked away. He could see her face in his mind—those bright, wide eyes that had looked at him like he was her world, the way her lips had curled into a smile every time he made her laugh. He fast-forwarded to the next song. Another ballad, but this time, there was no mistaking the pain. The lyrics were bitter, laced with the hurt she had carried when she left. It was a cry for answers, a plea for reconciliation that never came. *"You left without a word, But I can still hear the silence, It speaks louder than anything you could’ve said."* Ethan’s throat tightened, the weight of all those unspoken words crashing down on him. He had been the one to push her away, hadn’t he? It was his indecision, his inability to fully commit, that had driven her to leave. The arguments, the misunderstandings, the things left unsaid between them—they all came rushing back now, like an avalanche of regret. The tape clicked over to the final track. The last song. The one that had always been his favorite, the one that had made him believe everything was going to be okay. He had played it at their first anniversary, dancing with her in the living room while the world outside seemed to disappear. The song had been their anthem. But now, with the weight of everything that had happened between them, it sounded hollow. The melody no longer carried the same warmth. *"And if you ever want to come back, I’ll still be here, waiting for you, But this time, I won’t let you leave."* Ethan’s finger hovered over the stop button. He could feel the ache in his chest, the space where she had once been. The song was over, but the silence that followed it was even louder. For a moment, he let the emptiness hang in the air, then he pressed stop. The tape was done. The love was done. And all he had left were the memories—those songs that, like her, had faded into the past, a reminder of what was lost and never could be found again.
By Straylightabout a year ago in Writers
Most Honorable
It has been an interesting week. With the most recent set of Challenges provided by Vocal, I have been very diligent in setting myself up with my thoughts as I tap away in front of this screen. I could write poetry and stories, discuss those figures and stories from history or my own life and get some interesting feedback on them. I have looked over the list of upcoming work I can do, and I am both excited and terrified by what I have planned.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Writers
Poetry Punches for Pennies. Top Story - June 2025.
I never realized how many bills can pile up until I got a car. We don't even drive it that much or often since we work from home, but jeez. Bills be piling for everything lately. And when your brain is preoccupied with work, errands, and BILLS, creativity tends to suffer.
By Oneg In The Arcticabout a year ago in Writers
The Time I Didn’t Cry at My Grandmother’s Funeral
I stood at the edge of the grave, my hands in my coat pockets, the December wind folding around my ankles like cold silk. People around me cried—quiet sobs, open weeping, shoulders shaking beneath black wool. I didn’t cry.
By Muhammad Ahmadabout a year ago in Writers
The Mint That Nearly Killed Me. Runner-Up in I Wrote This Challenge.
This challenge initially seemed like a strange idea. I get it. AI and plagiarism are on the rise. But every single thing I write is mine and mine alone. Can you really imagine anyone else writing half the things I’ve written since I joined Vocal? But a challenge is a challenge.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Writers
