#164: Where I Come From

Elizabeth Brewster wrote a beautiful poem titled ‘Where I Come From’ — this is how it begins:

“People are made of places. They carry with them

hints of jungles or mountains, a tropic grace

or the cool eyes of sea gazers.”

I’ve always loved this poem’s abstracted sense of local identity, so this week I invite you to consider how your characters’ backgrounds affect their personalities and choices.

This week's prompts

Start your story with a character saying “Where I come from, …”

Middle School – 85 stories

Write a story in which someone returns to their hometown.

Adults – 81 stories

Write a story about coming of age in a big city.

High School – 14 stories

Write a story where a local takes a newcomer under their wing.

Adults – 24 stories

Think of someone who stood on the periphery of your childhood memories (a classmate, a teacher, a neighbor) and cast them as the main character of your story.

Middle School – 31 stories

Stories

“THE BRIGHT STARS IN THE SKY” by Vijay Likhite

Submitted to Contest #164

THE BRIGHT STARS IN THE SKY - 2990 WORDS Mr.Ramnathan at the age of 75 was on the terrace of his house in a suburb of Mumbai. That was an evening of summer. The sun had just set. The twilight was making the entire atmosphere pleasantly golden. He looked above in the sky. A lot of stars were glittering. A few were bright enough to catch attention but many were twinkling with their might to get noticed. “What are you looking at Sir?” Satyavrata, a young boy, his student, broke the thinking chain. “Oh, Satyavrata! I was looking at t...

0 comments 0

Read story

“Moley” by Sharon Williams

Submitted to Contest #164

There were stories about Mole. Allegedly, he had once been seen in the town centre sporting green eye shadow. Another time, sparkly nail polish. If I was leaving my house as he was coming out of his, he would immediately go back inside. The people who shared his drive said that they had once offered to help him cut his hedge, and he had promptly dropped his shears and run indoors shouting. They weren’t sure what he was yelling. Unremarkable is the best description I can give of his appearance: average height and build, slightly balding, alw...

2 comments 2

Read story

“Hemi The Hori” by Pene Worth

Submitted to Contest #164

ADVANCE NOTE: This an NZ story. dairy = convenience store kumera = sweet potato kai = food hangi = ground oven whanau = family boil-up - pork bones and puha boiled for long time. puha - a common spinach-like weed. I was home for a family dinner, back in the old hood. It had changed a bit. The big Pak’n’Sav supermarket had never been here when I was growing up. It sits where the fish’n’chip shop was that gave me my first after school job. There was a dairy here as well, and a stationer. Those and a whole bunch of houses had gone for a f...

2 comments 2

Read story

“Don't Be So Dramatic” by Persephone Girl

Submitted to Contest #164

Disclaimer: This story contains sensitive themes, including mental health, physical violence, gore, abuse, and suicide. Admittedly, I struggled to remember Lyla’s name for the first couple of weeks that Barbie and I taught her. After that, I would consistently mix her up with the other dancers. It wasn’t until her second year that her name would remain engrained in my mind. It was flu season, so three of the kids were out sick, one was on vacation, and another was performing in his preschool play. That only left Lyla. She was t...

1 comment 1

Read story

“Walk in My Shoes” by Mary Coutts-Bendsen

Submitted to Contest #164

Where I come from, there are places for the homeless to go in the winter. When I hiked to the Sky Train this morning, he huddled from the wind in that spot on the CBC Building concrete stairs. He's there again, wearing the same red hoodie under his fleece-lined jacket. His grey woolen mittens have no fingers, and his grey jeans have holes above the knees. I walk these two blocks to the Sky Train, day after day, for my job at CIBC. I work, not with the public in one of the teller booths, but down in the basement, alone, counting cash deposit...

1 comment 1

Read story

“Return to Ravensbrück” by Robert Hart

Submitted to Contest #164

Return to Ravensbrück I looked down at the letter inviting me by name, Frida Schmidt to the rededication of the Ravensbrück Concentration Camp memorial. The letter’s edge wobbled, exaggerating my trembling hand. I groped behind me, seeking the chair back, and fell on to the seat. As a sixteen-year-old, I had run from those gates into the spring of 1945 when the SS guards herded several thousand German nationals out of the camp. I’d never returned; nor did I wish to: I knew its miasma of suffering, cruelty and evil. It had drained the life ...

0 comments 0

Read story

“Grandpa Was Our Glue” by Miriam Anderson

Submitted to Contest #164

"Where I come from..."That's how Grandpa always started his stories. When we heard those words, we would come running, abandoning whatever it was that we were doing just to hear him tell us about his childhood. We would gather in a circle at his feet and gaze up into his kind, smiling face. Or, if we were lucky, he would allow one or two of us to climb up into his great big lap and nestle in the crook of his arm, where we would lean against his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart.Grandpa was a great bear of a man, even as he gre...

4 comments 4

Read story

“City By the Sea ” by Ella Feliciano

Submitted to Contest #164

Where I come from, the history of the city lingers in the crevices of a new age metropolis. Buildings that once stood as a landmark of a planned city forged by hope and offering are now demolished to make way for the updated charms of a new hope… tourism. Only pockets left of what once was… a vision of a city by the sea, a west coast vibe sporting east coast style. It’s weird now to say you live in the same city you grew up as a kid, but there was once a time where that was norm. That’s what you did. I’ve grown up here. I’ve stayed here.....

0 comments 0

Read story

“"Joe"” by Hannah Baty

Submitted to Contest #164

“Where I come from,” drawls a male voice with a heavy Southern accent, “we don’t take kindly to folks like you who don’t know their proper place.” The figure of a man in a cowboy hat, obscured in shadow, takes a few steps toward the light. Its hand goes to its hip, as if to touch a holstered pistol. “Where I come from,” the voice continues threateningly, “people like you had better watch what they say, if they don’t want to get into any trouble.” A sandy-haired and mustached white man dressed in a cowboy hat, a button-down checkered ...

1 comment 1

Read story

“We Always Stop To Help” by Glenn Holt

Submitted to Contest #164

Before I saw him, I had read this scientific study. It said the major determinant of whether people stop to help a stranger is whether they are late. That made sense to me.Then he appeared and began to speak in that hypnotic voice:Where I come from, there are no beings like you. Let me explain.People who care always stop to help, no matter how late they are.There are no dogs in shelters or people who have no shelter because everyone lives in harmony.We never need police or military because people always talk it out.The purpose of life is to ...

2 comments 2

Read story

“The Trees Used To Sing” by R. Hann

Submitted to Contest #164

TW: Death, Descriptions of Death, Gore/Violence, War Themes, Descriptions of Corpses, Some Language --- “Where I come from, the trees used to sing,” the Old Man told me, “The Oak would start and the Hickory would join, the Willow would harmonize, and the woodlands would be the center of music and chorus, of love, and of joy.” I snuck away from home every day, avoiding my chores, to hear stories from the Old Man about where he came from. He told me about Varengar, about the city of song, the city of gold, and how every morning the sun ...

6 comments 6

Read story

“Bodger” by Jim Firth

Submitted to Contest #164

CW: Mild foul language‘Where I come from,’ says Heinrich, ‘we don’t bodge jobs.’ Your boss has called you into his office to reprimand you for shoddy workmanship. Again.‘You need to go back and fix the roof,’ he says. ‘And the accident—we’ll get to that in a minute.’ Having your most recent work christened a bodge is a compliment, really. Neglecting to install a waterproof membrane on a new roof is beyond amateurish. If the job had landed in botch territory—the land of outright failure—you may have thrown a hissy fit and kicked ove...

4 comments 4

Read story

“The flight out of Kabul” by Salmah Ahmed

Submitted to Contest #164

‘Where I come from, tea is the preferred beverage.’ Sarah Yousafzai cradles a cup of lukewarm Starbucks latte. The ring finger and middle finger of her left hand are crooked, and jut out at an odd angle as she traces her spoon with her index finger.‘Oh?’ The reporter, Anna Ramsay, flicks her gaze to Sarah's cup. ‘Why didn’t you order tea?’‘I used to visit this coffee shop in Kabul with my friends. It was called ‘The Cupcake’, it had a very colourful décor, with tiny spotlights encrusting the ceiling. It felt liberating to disappear in there ...

4 comments 4

Read story

“Guess Where I'm From Before The End” by J. M

Submitted to Contest #164

Note: this story does mentions a child passing away (not graphic/not the way of passing...just that one has) Where I come from I’m the small lima bean an hour away from a bean I go to look up at Wondering why people gawk and laugh as they look at themselves in odd shapes Wondering why I look even smaller And why people only come see this city Instead of mine Janiyah stood at the mic in front of a crowd of teachers, students, and some of her family members. Her voice shook as she tried to remember her lines, holding her ...

0 comments 0

Read story

“Saltwater” by Jerah Winn

Submitted to Contest #164

In his dreams, he had forgotten the scent of the Caspian Sea. Was it salty, or not? Graham second-guessed his answer—but today, that didn’t matter. Gripping the cold silver rail that divided the Boulevard from the water, he breathed in, not bothering to catalog the sensation. The sea was blue and green and oily rainbow-black. If he wanted, he could climb down and touch it. Finally. His hand twitched toward the cell phone in his pocket. But then the wind swirled hair over his eyes and he swiped it back, turning, and looked down the Boulevard ...

2 comments 2

Read story

Load more stories

$250

Prize money

235

Contest entries

91

Stories

Ended on 23:59 - Sep 23, 2022 EST

Won by Lindsay Flo 🏆

Title: Mothering

Submissions must be between 1,000 - 3,000 words and will be approved and published on Reedsy Prompts within 7 days of the contest closing.

Read the full terms & conditions or check out the FAQ if you have any questions!

Menu

CONNECT

BLOG

APPS

TOOLS

ABOUT

#164: Where I Come From

This week's prompts

Start your story with a character saying “Where I come from, …”

Write a story in which someone returns to their hometown.

Write a story about coming of age in a big city.

Write a story where a local takes a newcomer under their wing.

Think of someone who stood on the periphery of your childhood memories (a classmate, a teacher, a neighbor) and cast them as the main character of your story.

Stories