Menu

Prompts

Contests

Blog

CONTEST ENDED – Thank you for submitting your stories!

#26: Musical Genius

January 27th marks 264 years since the birth of one of western music’s greatest composers: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

To celebrate Mozart’s birthday, this week we’re inviting you to explore different facets of both his life and his legacy. From little-known biographical details to the things he’s most remembered for, let the tune of his life inspire you to create your own entirely unique masterpiece.

P.S — Want to learn more about the lives and legacies of other greats? Check out this list of our 30 favorite biographies.

🥇 Winning story

“Lara” by Hannah Carter

I sit, frozen and rigid, on a cold bench as I stare at the stringed instrument that taunts me with its very existence. So you are a prodigy, the voices whisper in my head. No, of course not, I tell them right back. I am not a prodigy. I am just Lara. The voices are relentless, whispering that dreaded word in my ear, mocking me with its weighty meaning. Fame and exploits, wealth and power: all of these things come with being a prodigy. Lara is not a prodigy. She is just a ...

33 comments 33 WINNER 🏆

Read story

This week's prompts:

Write about a character who was considered a prodigy when they were young.

General – 67 stories

Write about a character who goes by many different names throughout their life.

General – 59 stories

Write about a character who was raised in a musical family.

General – 57 stories

Write a story about a musician struggling to find work during wartime.

Historical Fiction – 43 stories

Write a story about a character obsessed with one of the long-dead “greats” in their profession.

General – 27 stories

Stories

“Lara” by Hannah Carter

I sit, frozen and rigid, on a cold bench as I stare at the stringed instrument that taunts me with its very existence. So you are a prodigy, the voices whisper in my head. No, of course not, I tell them right back. I am not a prodigy. I am just Lara. The voices are relentless, whispering that dreaded word in my ear, mocking me with its weighty meaning. Fame and exploits, wealth and power: all of these things come with being a prodigy. Lara is not a prodigy. She is just a ...

33 comments 33 WINNER 🏆

Read story

“The Codebreak-her by Linda Herskovic” by Linda Herskovic

Rachel was standing at Doug’s computer showing him their version of a coding system. Doug was new to the company.“Sorry. I’m not used to all these characters being used,” Doug said. “At Richter, we only used only about five at a time.”“Well, forget everything you know. Well, not everything obviously,” she said with a little giggle.Doug looked up at Rachel. She had an awesome smile when s...

Read story

“The Baron's Daughter” by Arthur Tiberio

They locked the cello in the cellar. Now, before we go any further, understand that this was not the sort of cellar in which we find homey cabinets of jams and pickled beets. Mrs. Maganis is more than fond of the story and, before the incident, acquired quite a knack for telling it.Her husband was the sort of man who takes great pride in the guests he brings to his table, and though he was not usually a proponent for letting the women "prattle on through gentlemen's business," as he put it, it was not long before she developed such...

Read story

“Poison Ivy - stage 1” by Mariyam Ghafar

You and I are like poison ivy. We irritate ourselves or others until they are swollen, then we leave them. We delegate our pains to be like bubbles. Like bubbles? Like bubbles who rise up in water in a pressurising pan, pushing others down, popping them out, then we rise or pop ourselves. Sink: pop. Rise too far above: pop. So keep your toes on the ground and float. You stay down then you will be delegated on, fly too high then you will fling your burdens to others. Poison ivy.Gentle though they seem to appear, pounce on you like a...

Read story

“The Professional” by Julie Le blanc

Lil Johnny Brown was never the first child to be picked for teams at school. He was not a very popular kisser. Heck, even the Mathletes were a little wary of the four-foot-two, chunky, pink child with a mosaic of acne you could read your horoscope in. But lil Johnny Brown had a secret.No, not really. It was too enormous to be a secret.He was the best sousaphone player in the world.Now, some of you might be wondering, how might I, too, play the sousaphone? Or where might one acquire such an instrument? Or oh, ...

Read story

“FreeFall” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

The morning came by accident. The night before, two young teenagers had held hands as the rain fell on their brown skins and had listened as someone sang a terrible cover of Ed Sheeran's One. The lyrics were the last thing they heard before the morning came. As the sun wove its head from amongst the clouds, the girl let his hand slip from her wrists. The boy looked at her, long and hard and then he smiled and looked back at the street. She said, "I got the scholarship." It was so sudden the boy paused h...

Read story

“Fallen Prodigy” by Ariana Peal

She collapsed onto the bed, her body, almost instantly paralyzed by the feeling that began to spread through her body. The comforter hugged her body as she sank deeper. The warmth spread slowly all over her, taking over everything. It spread from her toes to her head causing a lazy smile to spread across her face. She felt like she was floating in the water, listening for the music that began to play with everything flowing...

Read story

“Dead Name Alicia” by Paige Leppanen

My birth parents named me Joy. They always said it was because they were so happy and excited about becoming parents for the first time. That excitement apparently wasn’t enough. At seven years old I was in my first foster home, unable to sleep in a strange bed, wishing that my parents had named me “Crystal” because I heard them talk about her a lot. I cried for hours because I figured they loved her more than they loved me.I didn’t talk much in that first home. I missed my family and my stuffed a...

Read story

“People and Dogs and a Harmonica in a Car” by Zilla Babbitt

Ricky. Me. Marlinspike. Toots. Charey. Coley.Okay. Then the dogs, Persimmon and Beans. The guitar and the harmonica. Luggage and camping junk. And car keys.Daddy slammed the door of the trunk and the car windows shook. Charey shrieked. Marlinspike hushed her, first quietly, then when Charey kept giggling, louder and louder, Daddy had to glare at Marlinspike for yelling, “Shut up Charlotte!”Rickey was buried in his comic...

Read story

“Hard Lessons ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Back then in a family of five, Gerald was the black sheep. Which meant that he was the useless one who couldn't handle anything or make things go right. There was the pretty twenty-year-old daughter who could play the banjo so well; there was Jack who played the piano like a second skin and then there was mother and father who sang songs that reached the heart.Gerald was the one who couldn't play a thing. Father tried hard to make him just right, after all, theirs was a family of musicians. But not much could have been done. Gerald...

Read story

“The Orphan's Song” by Claire Tucker

There was something about the way the wind was blowing that day that echoed how I felt. It had the same notes of rising hopelessness, of despair descending into depression, that I stopped to listen. A building across the street was hit last night, and men are digging through the rubble. The staccato of bricks striking each other provides a funeral march’s percussion to the lament of the wind. A perfect accompaniment to my thoughts. William Taylor’s Orchestra was my last hope. Or had be...

Read story

“Festival of the Bear's Hand” by Zilla Babbitt

I am the woman who sits at the café edge, the one with bluish curled hair, the one who writers her Ls all cursive, the one who only loves men named Martin. I am she. I sit. I watch. The café belongs to me within my soul. I live here. I sit under a viney shade with a cup in my raw-rubbed fingers, blue curls hiding my eyebrows, sitting, watching. They call me Mademoiselle Sorcière. The witch-lady.I do this every day, here in this café. I drink the same tea, smile the same smile, sit i...

Read story

“Skinned Self ” by Emma-grace Clarke

Identity is difficult.At least that’s what I’ve found. Bernard Stiegler, a preeminent philosopher, has dove into the way it’s forged or weaved. The way it actually happens is fuzzy, philosophers don’t seem to deal with the practical just the theoretical. Which I respect. The practical is difficult. He defines the creation of identity, also known as individuation as such: · The I

Read story

“Famous” by Cerose Dale

The train horn blares as the doors slide shut and it slowly trundles off, wheels rumbling on the tracks. The whole station seems to shake as it speeds up into a blur and shoots away, leaving everything in its dust. The boy waits until its noise is reduced to a mere echo at the end of the tunnel, then bends down to readjust the bag of coins on the ground and gives his guitar a few test strums.

Read story

“Anonymous Donations” by Kat Gruszka

Dear Ms. Thumbern, we are holding this year’s gala in your honor. We would be thrilled to have you attend. Your considerable donations for the last 20 years have been extremely generous, and we would like to recognize you… She didn’t need to read the rest; she knew she couldn’t attend. Yet, she had worked hard for this. She could not imagine another place more deserving of her money. Actually, their money. “Ms. Bloom?” She hadn’t even heard the first grader walk up to her desk. She casually put the let...

Read story

Load more stories

$50

Prize money

295

Submissions

Ended on 23:59 - Jan 31, 2020 EST

Won by Hannah Carter 🏆

Title: Lara

Winning stories will be featured on our website and in our weekly newsletter. For more information, please consult our terms of use.

Submissions will be approved and published within 7 days of the contest closing.

Please keep your submission between 1,000 - 3,000 words.

Any questions? Check out our FAQ