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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.

Our Vivisection of Reverend I. Pimpernel

Maybe it was First Person, or Second. They will decide, in afterword.

It started with one toenail. I thought it was fine as is; but You, you painted it. As if we had something to hide! So, I cut it to the quick. It grew back, in-grown, and somebody suggested the whole thing had to go...

Gangrene set in, and crept up to the knee. I confess only I was brave enough for operation, which had become so necessary, so vital. You wailed and cried: "Woe is Me." So it was, this tussle with Flesh and Philosophy. Wouldn't it have been better to just let go? Wiggle the hip as with the Nature of it, a little bit... But you, you said, NO. And I suffered it. Cornered, quarentined, alone. No one came out. No one went in. A stalemate, so I suggested perhaps it would be best to _____?

Seperate! Oh no, that you could not tolerate. Even with sharpest skapel, you could not even speculate the pain and mental cruelty it would precipitate. But I, I was clinical. No need to be cynical, said I with antiseptic smile, as I mediated on our belly button after a while. But you, on the other hand, could not endure the silence that should follow, and began to growl and holler. Alas, you were never good with your hands.

So I did us both a favor. I said Tripe is a flavor we both could savor, and I stuffed your face. Yet, you as consumate ingrate began to regurgitate the indulgence, and further try our patience.

Then I knew, there was truly no love or gratitude in these heart valves, and we would need to further amputate here and there. With my PhD, I took the opportunity to practice what I preach, and undertook drastic proactive measures for mutual preventive care. It is understood of course that I speak of mental health affairs. I took a stint and sutured as best I could, as you wiggled and spewed, for our bad blood continued to seep and stew. What could I do? Society being in chronic disarray. I knew we must be perfected; Aye, us, too.

It is why I, fortuitously, had undertaken transcendental meditation--aiming to be in subconscious and conscious assimulation with the articulation of the entire atmosphere. Yet always you saw it fit to interupt us in the midst, advancing yourself with a myriad of thoughts, completely out of place. Asked for peace, you refused to see yourself as anything but part and parcel, and mouthed off in a most profane way. I used the needle and stitched these blubbering lips, though in your eyes I could still see a hatred looking back at me, our protector and defender in this most trying time of need. I thought it best, in an extemporaneous way, to lobotomize and isolate what was left. Though I could no longer see, I could still smell your unrelenting fear and disbelief. In the end, I was pleased to exhale one last perfect breath.

01.15.2023

R.I.P. Challenge @Prose