CWWC, Short Story, Writing

CWWC 2016: Challenge #3



I’m a little later than I wanted to be in posting challenge #3 but life happens and here it is! Apparently, I can now get more points per story if I include past prompts in addition to this challenge’s prompts, but knowing how long-winded I am, I was only able to include 2 of the current prompts and 2 of the past prompts. So I am using 4 prompts total and they are all inserted into the part of the story they are featured at. (And for those of you who read my challenge #1 entry, you will see that this is part two of that story!)

 A Day in the Life of Chelsea

If you missed part one, read it here, because this story does build on the previous.

Backpack slung over her shoulder and headphones on, Chelsea shut the door and turned the key to her apartment, locking it up tight for the day. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and selected the artist she wished to shuffle and then stuck it back in her pocket, preparing herself for the long trek to college.

She turned around, humming the song blaring in her ears, and stopped dead in her tracks. Frozen with shock, she willed her mind to comprehend what she was seeing and tried desperately to think of how to respond. Jessica, her best friend and roommate, lay face down on the asphalt surrounded by what looked like ice.

Prompt 3

Dropping her backpack and ripping the headphones off her head, Chelsea ran towards her friend in a haze of emotion. Once at her side, Chelsea bent down, careful not to step on Jessica’s hands or feet, and examined the scene before her.

What Jessica was surrounded by was definitely ice, the reason being that she must have been carrying a bag of ice and when she fell, the bag busted and the ice scattered. But why Jessica would have had a bag of ice on her way to work didn’t add up to Chelsea.

Chelsea’s hands were shaking from panic as she rolled Jessica over onto her back in order to check her pulse and examine her face. The only injury on her face seemed to be the bloody nose from the fall, but Chelsea couldn’t feel a pulse, and Jessica’s hands were cold.

Fumbling for her phone, she quickly dialed 911 and told the operator her situation in a voice of sheer panic and on the verge of tears. The operator said that she was sending an ambulance and continued to reassure her until the paramedics arrived.

The next 20 minutes went by in a blur, they rushed Jessica to the hospital with Chelsea riding in the ambulance in her and she watched the paramedics flutter about her friend as they tried to bring her pulse back.

She sat in the waiting room for almost 4 hours, ending phone-call after phone-call from her boss, waiting on the report back from the doctor. When the doctor finally did come, Chelsea knew from his face that the news wasn’t good, but she had no time to prepare herself for what it might actually be.

Jessica was dead, he said, having died from an asthma attack and not being able to get to an inhaler in time. As if that wasn’t enough, he added that she had probably died slowly upon her collapse from lack of attention. He guessed that she had been laying there for probably 2 and half hours.

Chelsea buried her head into her arms and cried.


After Jessica’s death, Chelsea practically lived at the museum, it was the only thing that kept her mind off of her friend. So there she sat, in the large room intended for art classes, completely alone, staring at the featured piece of art propped up against the chalkboard.


The painting was of a little girl with a peaceful look about her, surrounded by butterflies that seemed to magically glow. She was portrayed so perfectly, and in such a way that she seemed to stare at Chelsea, inviting her to come and join her in her mystical land.


Chelsea blinks away tears, the girl looked like a much younger version of Jessica. The pain just wouldn’t go away. It had been almost two months, and still, the pain of knowing that her friend was gone threatened to destroy her.

Sometimes she would pray. Sometimes she would whisper God’s name, hoping to find comfort, like Jessica had always told her to, but comfort was never around. She called out his name in the silence like He would actually hear, like He would actually care. But just like always, only silence greeted her.


And there is my story! I might continue the story of Chelsea throughout the month depending on what the prompts are! I don’t want it to start repeating itself, like it did with the painting, so we’ll have to see 🙂 Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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