New Prompt (for November 30, 2022):
"A goddess of life kidnaps the god of death to be her new husband, meaning that six months of the year things are normal but the other half literally nothing is able to die." {credit to DieterVonDietrich on r/WritingPrompts}
Old Prompt (from November 02, 2022):
"A person drops by the grave of a long-gone famous author to read the notes people left for them and sees that some of them have been given grades." {credit to ratbas on r/WritingPrompts}
My Story: My English Tutor from the Other Side
One of the saddest days for the town of Pendley, Pennsylvania was when the beloved crime author Piers Ingram passed away at the ripe age of 95 in the year 1936. He was one of the sole reasons the town of Pendley was even known. Ever since he passed, Pendley had become less and less known until eventually, no one knew where it was unless you were from there.
Who can blame them? With Pittsburgh and Philidelphia being as big as they were and throwing in Harrisburg and Hershey, no one would even look twice at a town with a total population of 1,352 people. That's why Bridgette Townsend decided to travel to the Ivy League schools for college. She was accepted into Brown University and traveled to Rhode Island in hopes of starting a new life.
Pendley High had not equipped Bridgette for any college, let alone an Ivy League college. Though Bridgette could scrape by and get B's and C's, she was disappointed that she wasn't getting the A's she had in high school. She called home many times, but her parents told her to stick it out for the year and if she felt the same, she could transfer to a community college for the following year.
Midterms were less than stellar. Bridgette had an anxiety attack during her general biology exam and didn't finish the exam. Her biology professor had been kind enough to extend her time, but she didn't think she was cut out for the rigorous schedule that Brown expected of its students. Bridgette wanted to transfer at the end of the semester instead of the year.
"Honey, I understand what you are saying, but you are more skilled than you think," Dad said. "You will find a way to survive. You need more time to settle in."
"I'm settled, and I hate it here." Bridgette wiped fresh tears off her cheeks.
"Name three of your friends," Mom said.
"I don't have any. My roommate is always out or in with her boyfriend and hates my guts. My professors are less than helpful when I have questions. Their answer is always that I should have learned it before college." Bridgette sniffled. "I want to come home."
"Bridge, join some clubs, make some friends in your classes. You will feel better when you come home for Christmas," Dad said. "If not, then you will have some in the spring. I'd hate to see you give up on your dreams."
"I'll think about it over Christmas break." Bridgette chewed her lip. "I'll see you guys in a few weeks. Love you."
"We love you, too, sweetie," Mom and Dad both said before hanging up the call.
Semester exams were a little easier. Bridgette had figured out how to work her schedule a little better so she wasn't so overwhelmed with homework and even made a study friend in her Introduction to the Literary Arts class. Though things were better, Bridgette still felt that she did very mediocre on her final exams. On her way home, she learned she had tentatively finished her major classes with two A-'s, but the rest were B's and C's
She drove a couple of hours back to Pendley with tears streaking down her cheeks. To avoid seeing her family with their expectant gazes, she took the first right just outside of Pendley and decided to stop by Piers Ingram's grave.
It had been the tradition for ages to leave written assignments or works in progress for the late author to enjoy. Students of Pendley High would leave their final papers on the grave for Piers to enjoy and those inspired by his story would travel to Pendley to work on their novels would leave the first page of their manuscript on his grave. Bridgette had even left a page of her own writing there a year ago. All assumed they eventually blew away in the wind, but the sentiment behind it never changed.
As Bridgette approached the gravestone, she saw the telltale pieces of paper sticking out of the light dusting of snow that coated the ground. She crouched down in the snow and cleared a few of them off. Something she saw shocked her to the core.
Though there were a number of them that were lined with red pen marks of changes that should be made. As Bridgette assessed them, she noticed that all the advice was grammatically correct. There were even some word choice changes and suggestions to make the content flow more clearly.
"Piers, you're still doing your life work." Bridgette chuckled to herself.
Wait, Bridgette thought, I could use this to my advantage.
With a grin spreading across her face, Bridgette went home to be greeted by her family and put her plan into action.
*****
The first week of winter break, Bridgette worked on the first few pages of a story she had been thinking about writing since she had started her education at Brown. Once the intense coursework set in, Bridgette pushed the idea to the wayside. Now was the time.
When she had finished the first two chapters, Bridgette printed them out and gave her parents the excuse of reconnecting with some high school friends to head out to Piers's grave. She took a moment after putting her car into park before approaching the gravestone. This was a crazy idea, but she might just be able to learn enough in the next five weeks to be able to pass her literary arts classes with flying colors.
The snow crunched beneath her boots as Bridgette made her way to the large headstone in the middle of the graveyard. Though she didn't have gloves to keep her hands warm, Bridgette's fingers were still clammy and warm. Her heart race a mile a minute.
"Piers, I hope you help me become the writer I want to become." Bridgette leaned over and place the pages by his headstone and secured them with a rock.
The next step was to go home and wait. On the news that night, Bridgette watched the prediction of a few inches of snowfall over the night. Bridgette hoped her papers wouldn't be unrecognizable tomorrow morning.
After tossing and turning all night and fearing that this wasn't the solution she thought it was, Bridgette awoke as the sun finally peaked over the horizon. Before the rest of her family woke up, Bridgette snuck out and hoped to be back before anyone stirred.
She could tell before she even reached the tombstone that her bundle of papers sat on top of the inches of snow. She looked around for footprints as she approached, but the only ones she saw started to become obscured by the wind-blown snow and soon vanished.
Bridgette raced over to her best friend from high school's house. Maggie's mom Lucinda answered the door with a shocked look on her face.
"Why Bridgette, it's barely eight in the morning." Lucinda peeked outside to see if anyone else was with her. "What can I help you with?"
"Is Maggie up?" Bridgette asked.
"I haven't seen her yet, but Ty heard her rustling around a bit ago. You're more than welcome to head up to her room," Lucinda said.
"Thank you, Mrs. Thompson." Bridgette pushed into the house and raced up the stairs. As she opened Maggie's door, she shrieked.
"Bridge, you scared the shit outta me. What are you doing here?" Maggie asked.
Bridgette shut the door behind her and took a seat on the edge of Maggie's bed. "I put these papers on Piers's grave last night. Look at them."
Maggie took the papers from Bridgette but shot her a look that seemed like Maggie thought she had lost her mind. Then her jaw snapped open as she flipped through the pages.
"Bridgette, if you are pulling my leg--"
"Maggie, I would never." Bridgette took the papers back. "I have a few more chapters done. Let me go home and work these suggestions into them, then I want to go stakeout the grave. Someone is grading these papers, and they could help me succeed in college. Will you come with me?"
"Of course. I'm intrigued, too," Maggie said. "Let me know when you're ready to go. I'll get some stakeout snacks."
Bridgette grabbed a cold toaster strudel for her breakfast and set out to work at her keys. She made the changes "Piers" suggested to the subsequent chapters and printed them out.
"Bye guys! I'm headed to Maggie's," Bridgette called, but she was out the door before they could respond.
*****
"Bridge, it's nearly one in the morning. I can't keep my eyes open, and I'm freezing out here." Maggie shivered. "Can we please go home? I don't think anyone is coming."
"Shhh! Look over there." Bridgette pointed to the treeline where a faint light had appeared.
A tall figure walked across the cemetery grounds to Piers's grave. As quietly as possible, Bridgette opened the door of her car and snuck out into the night. She turned on her flashlight and directed it at the person.
"Who are you?" Bridgette asked.
The person grabbed the papers and took off. Without a thought about her safety or what she planned to do if she caught up to this person, Bridgette chased after the figure. She could hear Maggie shouting something, but she couldn't let this mystery tutor get away.
"Please, those are my papers! I just want to talk," Bridgette yelled.
The person turned around but kept running. Bridgette followed them through the woods. She had to jump across the creek that wound through the middle of the forest to stay on their tail. The person slipped on the hill leading toward the center of town, so the distance between Bridgette and them closed slightly.
Despite their best efforts, Bridgette caught up to the person as they opened the door to the town library. The person tried to slam the door shut and lock it in place, but Bridgette was too close and caught it before it could shut. It was a difficult fight, but Bridgette pulled the door open.
"Please." Bridgette breathed hard. "I need your help."
The person pulled down their mask and hood. A young man with cleanly shaved facial hair stared back at her. His eyes were wide with panic, and he matched Bridgette's rapid breathing rate.
"Look, I don't know what you think I can do for you, but I can't help," he said with a subtle English accent.
"You can, actually." Bridgette sucked in a deep breath to regulate her breathing. "You're the one who edits these papers, right?" The young man nodded. "I'm enrolled at Brown University, and I'm horribly underqualified. Could you help me with my writing skills?"
The man straightened up and furrowed a brow. "Why should I?"
Tears pricked in the sides of Bridgette's eyes. "Because otherwise, I can't achieve my dream."
The man stared at her for a moment before waving her to come with him as he walked toward a back room. He fiddled with his keys for a moment before finding the right one and unlocking the door. On the other side, there were books piled high around a narrow staircase that led to the apartment above the library. Bridgette hesitantly followed him up the stairs.
"This is where I do my work." The man motioned to the room around him.
It was a small apartment with a mostly open floor plan. The living room and kitchen flowed together with two doors on the east wall leading to a bathroom and the bedroom. Looking out the west window, the man had shoved a desk right up to the glass. A pile of pens sat on the right side of the desk and a couple of books sat to the left.
"Why do you do it?" Bridgette asked as she traced her fingers over the rough wooden table.
"My name is Jacob Ingram. I am Piers Ingram's grandson," the man said. "I wanted to continue his work after getting my degree at Oxford."
"That's very noble," Bridgette said.
"I would love to tutor you, but I can only do so much in a short period of time. If you're going back to Brown, you have to only be back in Pendley for only a few weeks." Jacob sighed. "It's not enough time to teach you what I've learned."
"Hear me out." Bridgette held up her hands. "We do a trial over the next five weeks. If you decide I am not too much of a nuisance, I could email you my writing before I submit it and you could help me tweak it."
Jacob chewed his bottom lip for a long time. "I'll do it."
"Seriously?" Bridgette smiled.
"Yeah, you seem desperate." Jacob chuckled.
"Thank you!" Bridgette threw her arms around him without thinking about it.
"I'll have notes for you tomorrow morning," Jacob said when Bridgette let him go. "Be ready with more writing."
By the time Bridgette left the library and called Maggie, she was all in a tizzy.
"Where are you?" Maggie asked. "I was about to call the cops."
"I'm at the library." Bridgette couldn't hide the joy in her voice. "And I have a tutor."
Happy Writing,
Ally Mac
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