Sledgehammer Writing Contest

July 2026 Prompts:
Character: A pianist
Action: Pruning roses
Setting: Fire
Prop: A book

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The Burning Passion of a Novice  

By Iris Harris  

I love my garden. Every morning, waking up to the sweet aroma of flower brightens my  everyday. Of course, a garden, much like a child, needs love and attention. Unlike those whiny  little brats, plants don’t cry. They require the basics, water, sunlight and food. I don my  gardening gear and set out to give them all the love and attention they need.  

As I exit the garden shed, the summer’s heat slaps me in the face. If I’m melting in this crazy  heat, I can only imagine the suffering my green children are under. I grab the garden hose and  immediately quench their thirst with the warm hose water. I swear I watch some of them perk up  sipping. Even seem to sway in tune with piano music coming from my neighbors. I never  thought too much of it before, dismissing it as the wind. Personally, I enjoy it and listen to a  variety of genres coming from the house. Chopin, Beethoven, John Williams. One time, I think  they even played some Aerosmith. This morning, they grace us with Vanessa Carlton’s famous  piece. I smile.  

I reach the bed of roses. I stretch my hand out to examine the petals. Ouch! They must be angry. I  head back to the shed and return with pruning shears. Carefully, I caress each stem, pruning  away the dead and dried up leaves from each stem. Inhaling the heavenly scent that most people  love when given a rose. The bright, perfectly red color holds in each petal of every rose in my  garden. On close inspection, I swear they also seem fuller than I remember. What changed? I’m  enjoying the peacefulness of the moment when a burning scent overtakes my roses’s.  

I swivel my head and notice smoke billowing out from my neighbors. Their still playing music, a  tune I don’t recognize, but it’s upbeat. What is going on? I rush over to pound on the door,  hoping to catch their attention.  

“Open up! The house…it’s on fire!”  

The music becomes stronger. I try to find the source of the fire. It’s the attic. It can’t be?  “Your attic, it’s on fire!” I scream. “Hurry open up!”  

A man opens the door. He’s holding a book with his arm covering the title. “What’s going on?  Why are you knocking?”  

“Your attic. I think it’s on fire.” I shout again, hoping the volume of my voice will register with  him.  

“Oh, really?” He says. It’s gotta be from my son. You know how he is. 

“What are you talking about? We need to call the fire department.”  

“Honey, you better not.”  

My face contorts. What the hell! I better not? It’s a bloody fire. “What?”  

“Here, follow me.” He leads me out across the street for a clearer view of what is happening. I  see it. The whole scene. The house is on fire. The roof, actually. Not the attic, just the roof.  Confusion wraps around my head. How is only the roof on fire and not the attic?  

“I know, the roof is on fire, but we don’t really need no water.”  

“You’re just going to let it burn?”  

As I ask the question, his son walks out. A smile stretched across his face like the mischievous  little boy he is. He crosses the street.  

“Did you enjoy my music this morning?”  

“I think, you and your dad have a bigger problem. The roof is on fire.”  

He looks up. Clicks his tongue. “Dad, what did you do?”  

His father opens the book and chants a few indecipherable words. The flames on the roof sway  back and forth, as if moving to the song his son played earlier before they vanish. My eyes  practically pop out of my head. What did I just witness? As the chanting and the flames end, the  father closes his book and I finally catch a quick glimpse of the title.  

A beginner’s guide to Fire Casting.  

Who knew I resided next to a family of novice spell casters. 

Filed under: Mini Sledgehammers, Great BOLD Write-Off | Tagged: writing contest, prizes, Portland, free, short story, writing, fiction, rose garden, fire, spells, Iris Harris, gardening |